Horacio growled at the show of violence from Vitruvia, what in the throne's name was the madwoman doing? For all he knew she was possessed by daemons after the event; it was certainly how she was behaving. In his opinion what she did warranted an execution and excommunication. Such rude lack of appreciation for the lives of heroes, such careless waste of the Emperor's currency. You shot a coward to show an example, you didn't kill a normal Guardsman for that made them sympathetic to the cause of Chaos; after all, from what they so far witnessed Chaos did not behave so rashly, so evilly. Then again, what if it had, merely under the guise of a stupid Sister?

He didn't speak for a long time, his plump face reddening and swelling with rage. He listened to what all of the parties suggested, occasionally glancing with fury at the crazed Sister. "I agree that for now we best replace him with another suitable figure; perhaps even our Lord can temporarily fulfill this position but I am sure this would distract him too much from current tasks. However I am also sure that a competent administrator can be quickly arranged for the interim." With that his complexion slowly turned from a tomato to more of a sweaty melon and finally he settled down to be more or less normal in appearance except for a frown and some errant beads of sweat.

He steepled his fingers on his power maul which he once more used as a staff, and looked to the skies thoughtfully. "I believe an investigation is the best course of action. There wouldn't be a way to conceal our intent at least partially would there? Perhaps under the guise of a search for xeno contraband or something of the sort? I of course could then investigate much easier. Preaching - and subtly obtaining knowledge - would certainly be much easier because the guilty parties would care less about our presence."

"Humbly, Sisters, I must disagree," said Lisbeth, still blinking hard. She spoke quickly, so that nobody could interrupt - whether they could understand her speech or not! "The Governor gave his life to the Emperor when he volunteered to become His servant, and if He has decided that this is the hour when the Governor will lay down his life in defense of the people of this world, so be it." Lisbeth stopped only to inhale, and stormed on with her next chain of rapid-fire words. "If there are souls on this world as yet unsullied by heresy, we must do what we can to save them while we still can. To kill a weed, one does not cut away at leaves; one tears it up from the ground by the roots, so that the rest of the plants can prosper."

"Milord Confessor," she continued, slowing down a little as she turned to talk to the almost-flourescent preacher. "Where could one find the greatest concentration of heretics in a place such as this? If we storm it, we can show the people of this world that the Emperor's light has not abandoned them, and they will surely rise up to join us in crushing the vipers that have perverted His vision for this world!" Caught up in her own speech, the naive sister was practically shaking the group by their shoulders to fire them up; even He was telling her that this was the right path, and at that moment Lisbeth could quite happily have taken on all the daemons of all the hells, so sure was she of their inevitable success.

"We are the flaming sword of His judgement, who can possibly stand in our way? Lord Inquisitor, I am certain that He has delivered us to this place to carry His torch into the fray! We need only to find their blasphemous temples and altars and tear them down, and the faithful citizens will take up arms and strike down the liars who have attempted to decieve them!"

@jbeil@BCTheEntity@Kratesis@Andreyich

It was a while until the Inquisitor spoke again, his mind going over all the had been said, the cogs turning everything over and over. On the outside it may well have seemed as if he had simply shut down, his face going completely blank, his bionic eye burning into air with its baleful red glare, but inside it could not have been more different.

"I thank you all for your counsel," he spoke at long last, giving a small nod of thnaks to each member of his coterie in turn, "and although I have not been able to form a completely fool-proof plan, I do believe that it should suffice for the moment." A mild look of consternation now took shape upon his features, his brow furrowing and his mind readying itself for the task ahead, "you are each of you correct in your own ways - every course of action has merit, every suggestion a capital one - but I have the flock of the Imperium to think of...as well as this planets strategic value." His voice took on a deeper and more serious tone, his surviving organic eye flickering with an inner fanatacism that was rare to see as he spoke up again.

"We shall follow both courses of action in parrallel. Confessor, I wish for you to select a number of guardians for yourself from the remaining Sisters, once this is done I give you authority to conduct whatever investigation you may wish - you appear to have a knack for concealing yourself, so let us inform the citizenry that it is an investigation into an imported batch of possible xenos contraband; any underhive groups would be very interested, and any upperhivers will likely give you any assistance you may require to keep their good name."

Another deep breath was taken, the idea of slaughtering fellow Imperials frankly abhorrent to the servant of the God-Emperor, but a neccesity nevertheless.

"I and those still with me shall head to the PDF barracks and, with the authority of His majestic and benevolent Inqusition, shall execute those suspected of heresy. Of course, it would be wise to seize a broadcasting chamber and get a wider message to the Ordo before taking any action. I believe the planets Guard regiments may be of some use...but how far they can be trusted, or cannot, is still debatable."

Did they agree to his course of action? Did it matter? Did he even care? It mattered little, he was the Emperor's surpreme authority here - in spite of what the Confessor may think of himself - and his decision was final.

"Follow me."

There was no time to be wasted, no time to clear the landing pad of the residue and casualties of battle, and Kliment had to simply hope that no-one came up here before their actions were taken. Possibly a vain hope, possibly not. As it was, they took the elevator down to street level in a short burst of energy and whirring mechanics, every moment where things were not happening being a wasted one.

Once the doors opened and presented them with a hive street familiar to any that had set foot upon an Imperial world - narrow but wide enough for a four wheeled or hover vehicle, not entirely clear of rubbish but not piled high with it either, and currently clear of any pedestrians due to all hive worlds strict series of work schedules and proceeding curfews therefore - Kliment turned to Horacio and bent close enough for only him to hear.

"Confessor, if your investigation should become threatened or fail, I want you to whip the citizens up into a fervoured frenzy; use everything at your disposal, inform them that there are heretics among them, that you have been sent here with an Inquisitor to root it out. I would rather have this world tear itself apart in bloody civil war - with a chance of retaking it at a later date - than see it fall to the Archenemy."

Turning back to the half-dozen at large, he raised his voice and checked that his bolt pistol was loaded, "I need a vehicle and I need it now, meanwhile the Confessor can choose his escort. I do not care how you get our transportation, just do it."

A humming noise escaped the Confessor as he rapped on the ground a few times with his power-maul; it was an old melody to some marching song of days yore, probably nobody but the Inquisitor would have heard of it and even then, unlikely. The Confessor glanced around, surveying the Sisters before him.

First there was Vitruvia. An... odd young lass, not necessarily quiet nor loud, simply devout and careful. However she seemed just a little too earnest in her torture of the prisoner, and that might very well be a detriment. Next of course, was Lisbeth. Was she righteous, or self-righteous? Zealous or insane? For a delicate matter as his it could completely destroy his attempts to work subtly. However, if he was to really stir up righteousness she could lead by example... then of course there was the last option, Alexa. Perhaps the most reserved and boring in his opinion, although this was in no means a disadvantage since an interesting Sister of Battle had to be viewed from a blast-shield.

After much pondering he pointed a finger to Vitruvia, and then waved a hand in general. "Her, and whoever else can be spared." this was said to generally indicate that he viewed that particular a margin above a certain other Sister for which he had disdain. "Now Lord, just as you we should depart, as quickly as possible. You know best of all I am sure, that there is no time to waste."

Vitruva listened to the Inquisitors decision and accepted it. The God Emperor in his infinite wisdom had divinely ordained a hierarchy into which all of mankind fell. The Inquisitor was a righteous man, a wise one and had been justly rewarded with his position. The sister was free of doubt, free of the fear of failure and free of lingering and inconvenient questions. If this was the strategy he had chosen than surely it was the wisest course.

When the Confessor chose her she simply nodded, double checked her equipment and walked to his side. This was not what she had wanted of course; she would rather be marching into the heart of the PDF to exterminate the heretics she was certain still remained within their ranks. But Vitruva had been born into a universe both cold and unfeeling and had long since learned to disregard such minor disappointments. Besides, the God Emperor's will works in mysterious ways, she told herself.

It seemed Inquisitor Kliment had given up on the governor, then. A pity, that was, for the governor's innocence was almost assured if he had needed to be replaced with somebody else... but naturally, when the Inquisitor mentioned the execution of heretics, Alexandra perked up, for that was what any Hospitaller was good at: discovering, rooting out, and ultimately destroying heresy. And with this in mind, she hoped that Confessor Horacio would pick Sisters other than herself, so that she as a Hospitaller could do her duty.

And, it seemed, he ultimately did, once they reached ground level. Though Sister Vitruvia was certainly lucky to have the opportunity to investigate the corruption of this world's people directly, Alexa was nonetheless somewhat glad her grin was hidden beneath her helmet. Otherwise, she had no words to offer, no need to provide additional assistance, beyond following the Inquisitor's orders - so she didn't say anything, instead moving out to try and find a vehicle to co-opt for their purposes. Actually finding a vehicle wasn't so hard, as it happened... the tricky part would be getting it to start, not something she had much skill in. Or any other Sister, at least that she knew of- they were trained to fight the enemies of Mankind, not to hotwire cars- and perhaps she was being too soft in thinking that disrupting the Hive workers in their duties and forcing them to hand their vehicles over would be unhelpful. Though some of her fellow Sisters had gotten to dealing with their own situations, so that was at the very least an alternate possibility.

@Andreyich@BCTheEntity@Kratesis@jbeil

Colonel Van Der Schartz of the Athega Tertius Planetary Defence Force could not stop sweating, and it was not as if the NCO barracks in which he stood were even any hotter than the usual room temperature. No, this was a clinging, clawing, sweat bought about by something sinister...something unnatural. Not only that, but his head throbbed beneath the slowly regrowing patch of dark hair at the back of his cranium, the miracle of suicidal engineering packed into the tissue of his mind a small sacrifice for the duty and service he was performing for the Imperium.

“How long has it been?” He rasped, his usually calm voice tinged with an edge of worry rather uncharacteristic of the veteran soldier, “they should have reported in by now.”

Vox-Operator De'Shard , another more minor member of the Immortality Order, gave a small shrug of his heavy-set shoulders and shook his head, “it is...unusual for them to be this late, but the operation was a hard one. They were sent to kill an Inquisitor, sir. That is no easy task, even for fully armed and trained soldiers.”

“Dammit De'Shard! They are not fully trained soldiers though,” snapped the Colonel, “blast it all, they are not even members of the regular Guard.”

“They know their duty, sir,” came the operators stoic reply, “they will complete their task or die in the attempt.”

Out of the window he could see several other buildings of varying shape and size within the walled compound, all making up the PDFs headquarters base in the hive; an armoury, a vehicle pool, various barrack buildings housing dozens of eager fighting men and women, and the actual HQ building itself. Grey-uniformed figures moved in unison, their officers shouting drill orders, and – in spite of their status when compared to the planets actual Guard regiments – he was like a proud father to these serving men and women, and they his children.

Ever since being visited by the nameless stranger he had known what he had to do, and thus far had managed to convert nearly half of those under his command to their cause. The other half remained ignorant fools, blinded by false Gods and with blinkers over their eyes. Not for long though, not for long.

“Sir!” Barked the operator, his usually calm demeanour broken for a moment, like a stone spilling water from a still pond, “report just in from the forward observation posts along the main highway...”

“Spit it out.”

“It seems that our friend is coming this way.”

“Well, frak.”

---

Scenes of industry flew past on either side of the cabin in which Kliment now sat, his eye whirring forward and back as he refocused his gaze this way and that, the six-wheeled van being a perfect civilian transport for himself and a demi-squad of Sororitas; it was without protective armour, white in colour, but bulky and with the entire rear area commonly used for shifting goods from one place to another – in this case it was human in nature.

The shocked look on the face of the quivering driver nearly forced the Inquisitor to crack a smile, nearly, the way the man had knelt in the middle of the road as one of the more tech-savvy Sisters had clambered into his vehicle reminded him of just how little the average citizen of the Imperium actually knew, how little even these Sororitas truly knew of the wider history of their species. Whatever mirth he may have momentarily found quickly dissipated with those thoughts, his eyes returning to the sludge-grey manufactorums and hab-units of rockcrete and steel as they passed by.

It took almost two hours to reach what could be called the outskirts of the PDF HQ compound, close enough away to observe the thick walls and gatehouse of the place, but far enough away to hopefully not be noticed and identified. The engine of the machine remained idling, should they need to make a quick getaway he did not wish to be sat about waiting for this backward technology to right itself.

“Well,” he began, turning to look at the seven or so Sororitas half-squatting half-seated behind his own seat, “it seems we have further choices to make – all obstructed by four high and strong walls, topped by patrolling soldiers and at least six towers.” He paused to look over them, knowing that each would die if commanded to, but he didn't want that, “we need to gain entry, and I have considered simply walking through the front gate. There is no way they could argue with my authority. And yet, I do not believe that that would be such a fine idea. Is there anything that my escort would suggest? After all, what we do next could see us all going home as heroes, or each laying dead in the dirt.”

Lisbeth did not make much noise during the journey; she simply saluted the Confessor as he and his entourage left, and filed away quietly into the transport. Despite the slowly-scabbing wounds beneath her gauntlets and the flash-burns from near-misses with lasgun fire, she was content. She had been given her orders by a duly appointed servant of the Emperor, and had in turn been a receptacle for His will, and an instrument of His judgement. She needed nothing else. Two hours of prayer beneath her breath, for victory and for vengeance, passed without incident, aside for a few potholes and the occasional sharp brake shaking the Sisters within the van around like beads in a jar.

The car stopped, and Lisbeth rose; even inside the van she was able to stand more or less upright, though her bulky frame meant that a modicum of shoving was inevitable. Her first instinct would have been to simply drive at the gates with fire and drive the disbelievers into the darkness, but the noble Inquisitor seemed to prefer more clandestine - some would say dishonourable - methods. Her mouth hung open uselessly for a few moments, before she looked down to her belt and recalled the grenades jingling around beside her ridiculous belt of rosaries.

"Inquisitor," she offered, raising a bouquet of frag grenades, "How big would a distraction need to be for you to get to where you are needed?"

Alexa was quite glad one of her allies had found a superior vehicle to her own, and most likely through more practical means than she'd been considering. For much of that journey, which she spent entirely silently, she considered whether or not the lapse in judgement was worthy of self-flagellation after the fact. After a time, she decided that it most likely was not, as there was no difference made to the outcome at the end of the day, but from there until they reached the PDF Headquarters she prayed to the God-Emperor for better insight into her future tests.

Speaking of which, once they reached the outskirts around the target location, the Inquisitor decided he would request their judgement again. How curious, for surely it was not their place to suggest to him what must be done to secure their victory? And yet, as the Inquisitor himself noted, simply walking in through the front doors would be utterly foolish... as would using an entire belt of frag grenades to cause a "distraction". She sighed to get herself ready to give a speech about a possible plan, hoping that it wasn't misinterpreted as being aimed at Lisbeth directly.

'Sister Lisbeth, I can't imagine placing the entire facility on high alert would prove a suitable distraction,' Alexa lightly chided. Wait, no, harshly, because her vox decided it would be so. 'If they are expecting us, then anybody who approaches so boldly will more than likely be shot to chaff by mounted weaponry before so much as priming a grenade. In my opinion, our best bet would be to head toward the walls as stealthily as possible, moving between cover whenever we are unobserved; find a way into the HQ through the walls, ideally without detonating anything explosive; then sneak as far as we can to reach the leaders of the PDF and take them hostage, assuming we don't simply slay them outright. Obviously, we avoid firing our guns unless we're discovered, instead using our sarissas against any foe who comes across us, but I believe that stealth will be less of an issue once we get a good way into the facility proper.'

As far as speeches went, Alexa felt like hers had gone particularly badly. Her mouth was dry, and she was, distressingly enough, ever so slightly nervous about the possibility of having overstepped her bounds. But surely not; the Inquisitor had asked for advice, and she had given it, so surely there was no problem, right?

At least she'd been granted the insight she had wanted, at least.

After Horacio had made his selection he waved a short farewell to the Inquisitor and the other comrades, scowling at who he mentally classified as "that bloody bitch." Then he turned at the person who he was to be with for the next considerable measure of time and returned to the habitual action of stroking his mutton-chops. "We can go on foot, and preach as we walk along thus 'snowballing' a great crowd, or we can commandeer a vehicle to get to the centre, perhaps the enforcers have a Tauros or something." This was said out loud both because he often spoke his mind out loud and he was looking for advice. Both of course had their merits, so he didn't bother to wait and slowly began to pace towards the hive proper, looking for some civilian populace. At least they would this way get a head start should they decide to go on foot.

Vitruvia pondered this with care as was her wont. "I would suggest gathering a crowd as we move. Though the Emperor is with us we are only two and the number of heretics on this planet is unknown, as are their resources." As always Vitruvia kept their personal security in mind; there was a time and a place for martyrdom but death by being shot in the back by some hive scum was hardly a death befitting a servant of the Emperor.

The answer seemed satisfactory and well thought out; besides, banking on the chance that some enforcers or others with a proper vehicle would go by was not a good idea. They had to deal in absolutes for now. "Very well then." He said, and then walked onwards singing a standard hymn. Once they started to see the first civilians Horacio decided to grind his hands happily and then raise them. Under his breath he muttered "Very, very well. Here it begins." The man was old but relatively tall and had quite the set of lungs under his gut. "Hear me, peoples of the Imperium!" he exclaimed. "Amongst you there are traitors, those tainted by our eternal enemy, lack of faith in the Emperor. We have slaughtered some of these revolutionary elements with the help of our friends in the Inquisition, but know that this will not be enough! They are many, and have even reached the Planetary defense force, a supposed bastion of purity and one of our last resorts." A pause for breath was taken here, during which the Confessor looked around quickly hoping against the chances that he wouldn't see people disappear from the crowd or the appearance of some weapon. For now he saw nothing of the sort but what if he missed something? At least there was the fact that - if the crowd was faithful - the heretics would have a lot of enemies around them. He decided that he may as well give up on the xenos contraband cover-up, although he thought it was a bloody good idea and was proud of it there was also the matter of it being too little too late. The Inquisitor might disagree but there was naught to do about that. "See their cowardice! They hide in shadows, and even today when they attacked they needed ambush. No, we are not like this, we are factually better. Our Imperial Truth goes far and wide whilst they need to get their slimy tendrils and roots between the stones that form our great civilization. But this does not mean that we should not be on watch, this does not mean that we can grow idle! In idleness heresy is born. No, seek out the traitors in your ranks. They may be your mother, your father, your brother or sister, anyone. But forget this minor familial bond for the greater bond of subject and Emperor, follower and God. If you suspect anyone of heresy then seek out your nearest enforcer or Arbiter, or even us! We do not have the time to deliberate every case but those that the Enforcers and others cannot handle we shall take. If you suspect some squad, or platoon or even company of the Planetary Defenders to be heretics then say this to us, present it. If the PDF or enforcers are lazy, idle or do not wish to investigate a valid case then report it to me, another authority or if the heresy is obvious kill them yourselves! Some innocents may die, but this is better than all of them. You may say that this... this is too much utilitarianism, this is too much to ask of the common man but it is not, for the alternative is horrifying. You see, a death by righteous bullet seeking to purify will only make you a martyr, whilst death to the forces of the eternal enemy will be agonizing, likely lasting days. I beg of you, take up arms, find the heretic leaders, bring their heads to me!" he finished, huffing for air. Slightly more relaxed, but nevertheless zealous he made a small addendum. "Spread the word, especially to those of the Eclessiarchy. Tell them that their idleness will be forgiven by the Lord Inquisitor if they rise to the occasion and preach fire. I also want at least one-hundred volunteers, armed. Criminals seeking redemption, veterans of wars with old mementos, or simply the greatly faithful, come. Form a Frateris Militia, and slay the impure. I await results in an hour." Finally, he settled down tiredly, but starting something between a chant and hymn, stopping his own voice when there were enough others to drown him out. "Haven't given one like that in a while." Horacio said to Vitruvia, wiping some sweat off of the creased brow protruding from below the hat of office. "Once this first group assembles I believe we should try to make contact with the Inquisitor, perhaps splitting up along the way, organizing 'purity patrols' of sorts, gathering up greater followings, perhaps establishing impromptu points and small offices where people can make accusations of heresy, or act as informants. Perhaps one of us can raise zeal whilst the other continues on to the aspect of investigation. I'm afraid I can't put up much of a ruse to trick criminals and the like. Though, I reckon investigation might be even harder for you what with the armour." he said, trailing off thoughtfully.

As the preacher spoke Vitruvia kept a watchful eye on the crowd and remained about two meters behind Horacio. She found his sermon well suited to its audience who appeared to be composed of workers of simple, but direct faith. Such men were the backbone of the Imperium and Horacio had either tailored his message to his audience on the fly or was uniquely suited to preach to the working class of the Hive. Nor did the gradual escalation of energy within his message escape her. He pulled them in and then built to a fiery climax, calling for just the things they would need; vigilantes hunting down heretics to both kill them and reduce their freedom of movement and assembly and a direct appeal for the formation of the Frateris Militia. It was simple, direct and named the threat in clear language. Vitruvia approved.

The Sister of Battle frowned as he suggested splitting up. All the tactical courses in the Schola Progenium had emphasized concentration of mass; mankind's one true advantage over the forces of madness and darkness was the sheer mass of man and machine the Imperium could hurl at it's rivals. On the micro level their force had already been split once and Vitruvia was not certain of the wisdom of dividing the smallest force yet again. Should Horacio fall her mission would fail, as she wouldn't be capable of rallying the masses and whipping up a frenzy of righteous fury.

"I question the wisdom of dividing our forces a second time. I fear it would give the heretics upon this world an opening to strike at you while you were isolated, perhaps under the guise of a faithful member of the Frateris Militia. And yes - " She chuckled. " - the armor would make it a struggle to fit in. Perhaps if I had somewhere to store it? But even then I must question my ability to impersonate a member of the criminal classes."

She gave this some thought. "However it would be a waste for me to hover over you at all times. Let us personally vet a few of the best armed and trained members of the Militia and appoint them as your personal bodyguards. Then I can lead an investigation into any suspected heretics. Anyone found with suspicious icons or symbols carved into the flesh especially. I can take a few of the Militia to lock down their dwellings and personal effects before their fellow heretics have time to hide the evidence. With the God Emperor's aid I could find evidence that connects one heretic to the next and root out a nest or two."

It was a hard choice, and Horacio knew that if even the slightest thing would go wrong he'd spend the rest of his days wondering if he had made the right choice. If he didn't then he'd be haunted, but then he remembered his earlier thought. They had to deal in absolutes or else they were nothing. "That is... reasonable." he replied grudgingly. It's not like he could offer much of a counter-point, despite something in his gut telling him to go his own way. But, the gut wasn't something to trust no, he had to trust his clarity of mind as the Emperor would want him to.

Horacio would wait until a considerable amount of men were assembled and then walk along like a drill-abbot to survey them. It was quite the motley crew, only a few men alike. There were lots of stubbers, some handcannons and shotguns. A veteran of some war even had carapace armour, but carried just a bayonet tied to a plasteel bar. There were some lasguns, a man lugging a heavy autogun and a single man was a clearly self-confident gunslinger with two laspistols. Many many more ranks were there that he could not see and couldn't really be bothered to march on to view. "Those not properly armed, go to your homes. We don't need your pointless deaths, return with weapons or go and report heretics, seek them out and then return; this will be a better use of you. Go!" With that many people departed, sad and perhaps even resentful. The holy man was certain that at least one of them would turn to the enemy out of sheer despair which would in turn bring Chaos, but the fact was that this was urban combat, unarmed men were even less useful than usual and would also have much more reasoning to defect.

"That'll do, for now. Any more volunteers form ranks like this." Horacio paused to lick his lips and then survey the men. He pointed at the veterans and at each one would say "You" and after selecting a considerable amount would continue on. "You will be the leaders of groups. Divide the men about as equally as possible, if there aren't enough to make it equal then let those decide for themselves to which 'squad' they will be assigned to. You four-" he said, pointing to four of the selected "officers." "You shall come with us, as will you lot." referring to a group of men better armed and standing to - what would after considerable deliberation be grudgingly conceded as - attention.

While he waited for them to come over after grabbing some militia men he whispered to Vitruvia. "We shan't split up, much. We shall walk in adjacent streets within earshot, but this way snipers and bombers would have trouble taking the two of us at once, whilst also letting us call out to more people." Filling lungs with air, once more the Confessor's shout rang out across the hive. "Anyone with an eight pointed star or strange markings upon them is to be killed at once, we take no chances. Spread the word, and tell them to bring the indeterminate cases to us as we walk along preaching the Imperial Truth." With that he drew his shotgun and carrying the big thing in one hand started to march.

"Citizens! Join me in a new righteous Crusade, join me in the purgation of this land from the eternal enemy!" the Confessor shouted, noting with glee that a light snowball as people started to follow him started. "Come with me, and be heroes." he said, and then thought as shouts and cheers emanated. Now he was waiting for the latest development from either Vitruvia or the Inquisitor to come via vox.

Hard eyes inspected each and every man for the weaknesses of the soul through which heresy could slip. The God Emperor demanded that mankind be strong, be pure, be without sin. All fell short of His perfection of course but some were simply too weak of spirit to be anything other than a danger to their fellow man. Vitruvia watched them like a hawk for signs of a faltering or cowardly nature.

But she spotted no immediate signs of weakness, only a passionate sense of duty and hatred for the heretic inflamed by Horatio's sermon. Good.

The Sister of Battle selected a few of the squads to come with her. She made sure to pick a balance of the better armed and disciplined squads and some of the poorly armed and more rag-tag bands. Those who were unskilled and unsure would learn from the example of those who were more adept. Plus she might need to sacrifice some for the good of the God Emperor. Regrettable but who had the luxury of mercy in the battle against heresy? No. Mankind's very soul was at stake and it would be better for them to die in service of the God Emperor than to live and see their world fall to the forces of madness and darkness.

The Sister of Battle took up point position with one of her better squads and they took the street adjacent to Horacio. Citizens were stopped and searched for heretical symbols and quizzed. Passing speeders were also halted and searched by the swelling mob and Vitruvia made sure to inspect every suspicious item with her own eyes. No heretics fell into her grasp but she was glad for the chance to familiarize the militia with marching, orders and discipline before they made contact with the enemy.

@Andreyich@BCTheEntity@Kratesis@jbeil

“What the Warp is that?” Questioned Van Der Schartz, his eyes going from his Vox-Operator to the windows leading out onto the parade ground, “thunder? No, it can't be.”

From somewhere, somewhere far off by the sounds of it, a rumbling could be heard, and it was getting closer. It was not a rumbling that was commonly heard though, for there were secondary sounds coming from it, sounds that could only be...

“Gunfire.”

De'Shard and his superior shared a nervous glance, the seated man twitching away for a moment with a hand pressed to his ear, turning back with as much speed when the message had been relayed.

“Sir, we may have bigger problems than our errant Inquisitor.”

“What?! What could be worse?”

“Someone, a preacher by the sound of it, has roused the citizenry into a frenzy. Our source claims that there are Sororitas with him, and that he's...he's exposing us, sir.”

“Blast it all! She promised us that this is not how it would go, she promised us.”

“If I may, sir, perhaps we should send help? This Inquisitor, if he is even alive, has yet to show his face – he would also be mad to attack an entire compound by himself.”

“Ach, sound the alert.”

Soon enough the far away sounds of gunfire and fermenting revolt were joined closer to home by blaring klaxons and the sound of booted feet, the semi-professional soldiers of the PDF forming around their officers and NCO's, filtering their way out of the compounds main gate and leaving a skeleton garrison to hold down the fort until their return. No one paid any attention to the silent white vehicle parked down the road, too busy with their own problems to bother with it.

When all was said and done there were few left, the most intimate and personal of the Colonels guards, and a few squads of troopers who were oblivious to the true intentions of their commanding officer; now was the time to strike.

---

---

Once more the Inquisitor listened to each of his retinue, nodding quietly and lapsing into silence as he heard the sirens go off. With ever-so-much care did he open the rear door of the van, no more than an inch or so, and watch the grey-clad PDF soldiers march off toward the main hive where he knew Horacio was stirring up some trouble.

“Sister Alexa,” he spoke softly, not even looking at the amazon of a woman, “we shall go by your planning and skirt about the walls. I believe that we will find few of the loyal soldiers left within, likely our enemy has sent them off to kill civilians and kept his closest followers – these we will have to kill.”

Now he did turn in his half-crouch, his bionic eye whirring as it focused upon the red-headed Battle-Sister near at hand, “Sister Dominicia shall take point, Sister Alexa and I shall follow with the remainder of our squad. Your task is to find a weak spot in the wall that we can exploit; a crack, a back door, anything. If we are forced to scale the wall by some means then so be it. Use your cover wisely and keep out of sight as best you can.”

After slipping the helmet of his Ignatus-pattern armour over his head he opened the back door of the vehicle, hopping out and pulling his pistol free as he landed, checking the coast was clear before gesturing Dominicia to carry on ahead.

This would either go very well indeed, or go terribly wrong.

Horacio was in the midst of another hymn when he started to be aware of the... response coming towards them, squinting to see the running uniforms and odd vehicle or two... or three... yes, it was quite clear that something would be happening. Either this was a set of over-enthusiastic reinforcements or the potentially fatal alternative of enemies.

He stopped walking, and his arms paused mid-wave. Even his hymn was cut off at "Empero-". The Confessor bit his lip, and lifted his shotgun, not quite aiming but merely keeping it ready.

"STOP!" the man roared, giving a blast into the sky. "In the name of the Emperor, stop! Nobody fire!" he yelled to the running guardsmen, but only one or two did, and most of them resumed their approach. Perhaps they didn't hear him? He considered. He'd hate to have the civil war start so early. For now he only hoped that he would have to arouse people and make them lynch anyone who even looked funny on suspicion of corruption; harsh but necessary. This however, an incoming civil war was something he'd prefer to avoid. However, it would seem that these men would not be intimidated either. They had lasguns, a lot of them. Some of the reserve personnel had an autogun here or there but nevertheless fearsome weapons, particularly en-masse. However, that is exactly where the Confessor and his mob had the advantage. They had a rag-tag of gang weapons that would probably backfire on you every other shot, but there were a lot of them and the flak-gear was despite the propaganda, not going to protect you from all that would come. Not to mention, it didn't protect the face, arms, legs, throat, and a whole lot of squishy bits ripe for shooting.

It was when a las-bolt pierced the skull of a boy beating a drum and injuring the man behind him that Horacio really snapped out of the naive and simplistic trance of an attempt at pacifism, and he stared at the milky brown eyes of the fallen youngling he held in his arms. He was dead, dead and cooling by the moment. The men around him were falling one by one, and las-bolts were making the flickering of the rosarius when it protected him from their searing flight. He looked up as he dropped the corpse and lifted up his power maul to point at the enemies. "Charge." he said, not screaming but snarling mildly with a spray of white spittle. It took a moment for what he said to sink in, but everyone seemed to understand even if they didn't hear. The scream of anger and righteous fury was taken up. The young, the prime and the elderly all looked forward and ran, shooting and swinging their weapons. Many blades whooshed in the air while one man was beating a hammer on his flak-vest with a distinctive "dong-dong-dong." "Kill them! Anyone who won't drop their weapon doesn't deserve mercy! Rip them and trample them into the rockcrete!" He screamed, as he ran forward with the mob, hoping that the Sororita was doing well too.

Horacio's age helped him here, it gave an excuse to not be at the front and receiver the heavy stubber fire that opened up, and neither would he be at the front of the melee when the mob finally came into close combat distance of the PDF. A grenade exploded, and some of the militia men flew in a red spray cross the whole street, a flamer started to vaporise a few men before the offending soldier's backpack was hit and exploded with promethium gushing on friend and foe alike.

...And then the lines closed, at least partially. The PDF couldn't decide whether it would use the affixed bayonets to try and take the charge or if they should move back so the heavy weapons could thin the crowd some more. One man running away was impaled on an imrpomptu spear and lifted up for the traitors to survey, while a few men forming two ranks with a small bayonet wall got suddenly blown away by a militiaman carrying a rapid-fire shotgun. With the initial shock dying down it turned into a grueling fight were tooth and nail would come in handy, like the ancient trench battles on terra. There were screams of triumph and agony, men were stepped over so the next combatant could continue the previous one's legacy. Grenades and improvised explosives were being tossed overhead to hit the clumps of people waiting to join the fight, or simply let off as a dying "present." Many tried to shoot over the head or between the shoulder of a comrade, though there were quite a few cases of friendly fire because of this. Worse yet was when some of the vehicles of the PDF had their weapons high enough to fire over the heads of their allies, although in one such case the lines of the PDF got pushed to far back, and as the vehicle was about to drive backwards the gunner had a massive hook go through his stomach, and he was pulled right off. It was swiftly surrounded and the driver ripped out by people lusting for revenge.

And at last, the man in front of Horacio fell right on him as his previous opponent managed to shoot his shotgun at him. Just as the man was getting the Confessor in his sights the holy man shot first with his bolt-pistol. Well, if it was his turn so be it. He stepped forward and it seemed he'd be dealing with an officer, who had a chainsword. Nasty weapon, and all the blood on it was expected. The locals that joined Horacio in battle would try to block it with their improvised weapon only to have it sliced through and then to be shredded by the thing. Well, the traitor would learn the meaning of "advantage" when he had to deal with a power maul. Holding his weapon two-handed Horacio blocked the first two identical downward strikes and ducked under the side-ways sweep, but growled indignantly when his hat was sliced in two, falling on the ground. Angrily he went for an under-hand strike from his weapon which the officer dodged, but his sword went in the power field and hit the maul's spike, breaking the thing. The chain fell to the ground and the motor spun uselessly, with the panicked officer looking around. The sweating bastard pulled a mono-knife from his boot and threw it. To the holy man's surprise, it went right past the rosarius defence and hit him just to the right of his neck, sticking out from his back. Screaming he went for another sweep with his maul, and this time splite the man into north and south. He kneeled as he felt the pain, praying to the God-Emperor that the corruption would not enter him through the wretched blade. He pulled it out, threw it back at the enemies (sadly only hitting someone with the handle) and tugging at his bolt-pistol to shoot. He kept on pulling the trigger even when the clip ended, for the comfort it gave. Long since another few men had taken up his spot in the fight, but he was nevertheless breathing fast and hard.

Horacio stood, brushing himself off and standing with an arm clutching the wound. The fight was getting more complex with men going on roof-tops and balconies to shoot and while there was much melee still the thinning of numbers by the hundreds on both sides made shooting a lot easier, and things were slowly drifting to more traditional urban combat. Picking up his weapons along with a groaning man who had a bayonet in his stomach, Horacio ran to a make-shift barricade for cover and screamed "Medic!" until a man with foggy spectacles, a doctor's bag and a bloodied axe rushed over to him. "Drop the axe lad!" he said to the doctor who instinctively did, and went to treating the two casualties. As far as the Confessor could tell the faithful were winning. Many had dragged across corpses of dead PDF men to loot their flak-gear or at least helmet, while others just took a lasgun. The mob had acquired much firepower in the mere seventeen minutes of the engagement, while still retaining numerical superiority. In fact, as far as he could see the militia was now completely equipped with firearms, and this was being pronounced loud and clear. The zinging of lasbolts from the enemy was answered nearly tenfold, and any coward amongst the traitors trying to retreat was quickly pinned down on the streets and then killed. With his shoulder patched up, Horacio peeked over his barricade to survey the situation and ducked as a bullet hit just the tip of his cover. Horacio turned to look at the structure behind him on his side, and looked down at the men milling about at the bottom, ocassionally taking pot-shots or emptying their whole charges on fleeing enemies. They weren't high enough for the shooting between buildings, so they were waiting for vacancy to open up upstairs via one of the shooters dying.

But the Confessor had other plans. He pointed with his thumb at the enemy building and then ran his thumb across his throat while motioning to the men who were at first confused. Eventually he mouthed "We'll storm them. Melee." and making a mock swing with a knife. The men seemed to comprehend, and Horacio with his fingers made a one.. two.. three. The shout resumed, and the men ran. Now they had lasguns which could shoot on automatic for quite a while, so that the enemy would be supressed while they charged. They made it to the structure of the enemies, and against some close quarters combat. The men fought with bayonets, while occassionally shooting to cover a charge or to hopefully get the other bastard without having to go for melee. They went up, floor by floor and eventually they cleared the structure. A salient! He looked to the other structures, some housing and some industry. It seemed that others were following his lead, and were also clearing out the other buildings. Sitting down against a wall the Confessor made the sign of the Aquila over his sweaty chest. It was almost over.

One street to the east Vitruvia's ragtag militia advanced, pausing occasionally to search passersby for anything with the whiff of heresy. The powerfully built sister of battle gave them quick lessons as they advanced; not in scriptures for the fires of their faith had already been stoked to a raging bonfire but instead she gave short instructions on the fundamentals of Imperium tactics. Stick together. Obey your superiors. Fear not martyrdom.

The men had only begun to absorb her instruction when the planetary defense force appeared about three blocks ahead. Vitruva's power armor whirred as she walked out in front of her squads, bolter in hand. She turned the volume in her helm's voice amplifier up and shouted a challenge.

"MEN OF FAITH OR FAITHLESS MEN?"

The PDF drew to a disorderly halt and pimple faced boys shuffled and clutched their weapons in sweaty hands while old men, bent at the back and shoulder squinted in the harsh glare of the sun. There was muttering among the officers and confusion spread among the ranks. It was one thing to put down a revolt in the gutters; another entirely to open fire on a holy warrior adorned in holy iconography.

No clear orders were ever given on either side. Out of nowhere a las beam struck Vitruvia square in the chest. There was a moments stunned silence and then a dull growl from Vitruva's militia. The tall sister of battle calmly flipped her bolter to full auto and swept murderous fire across the completely exposed front line of PDF. The emotional tension stroked to a boil by Horacio's sermon was released in an roar of murderous rage and the militia swept forward in a human tide, firing their weapons blindly and charging headlong into the PDF.

Servo motors whirred as Vitruvia bounded up the base of a decrepit statue of one of this world's long dead heroes while the tide of frenzied human flesh washed around her like the froth of the tide about a stone. Faith alone would not prevent her militia from being cut down by the PDF's superior firepower before they could make contact. The sister of battle squeezed the trigger and the Godwyn-De'az bolter jerked in her cermite armored fists, a meter of fire spewing from it's muzzle like dragon's fire and casting the black and white clad sister in hellish light even in the bright of day. The stream of bolts slammed into the unprepared and wavering PDF, a wave of hammer blows that punched through flimsy armor like paper and blew heads into chunks of gore and blasted limbs from dying bodies.

Most of the men in the PDF had never even seen a bolter before, much less been caught in the open with no protection against a sixty round drum. Officers shouted contradictory orders and men froze or hid or fought, each following his own nature rather than acting in unison. Most dived for cover against the barrage of bolter shells rather than firing an organized counter-charge volley and the sporadic fire that did emerge did nothing to check the maddened human wave.

One unfortunate soul was hit twice in the belly by Vitruva's bolter and blown completely in half, gargled screams and blood pouring from his mouth as he crawled across the pavement before one of the militia men reached him, bashing out his brains with the frenzied blows of a makeshift club. The front ranks simply disintegrated as the militia made impact. Some fought and some ran and the collapse of order was the death of many men, hacked apart and battered to death and sometimes simply torn limb from limb.

In the rear disaster loomed. A trio of PDF chimeras had rounded the corner behind the PDF forces, rusted multilaser turrets promising disaster for Vitruva's militia which was still trapped in hand to hand combat with the rapidly collapsing PDF front. The first chimera had panicked and attempted to back up, colliding with the chimera after it and jamming the streets but through her helmet's magnification Vitrvia could see an officer on the scene attempting to take control of the situation and move the chimera's into position.

Vitruvia dropped to one knee, flipped to single auto and put her eye to the bolters optics. She squeezed and a bolt blew out the entire front of his neck. His head dangled back grotesquely, neck broken by the force and clawed at the air for a moment before falling dead. But she could see a knot of officers and NCO's move in after him, stopping the flight of fleeing PDF soldiers, organizing a defensive position and slowly gaining control over the vehicles.

She knew a disaster when she saw one. The untrained militia would be spent after the hand to hand fighting and the officers would have a strong defensive position and covering fire from the chimeras. Their first headlong charge would not work a second time. The faithful would be cut to pieces.

Multilaser fire struck the statue and an explosion of superheated stone sprayed her armor. The athletically built sister didn't hesitate, leaping from the base of the statue, boots landing with a thump on the pavement and breaking into a run toward the nearest storefront. She lowered her head and smashed through the glass window, turned right and fired from the hip as she ran. Bolts punched through cheap walling and blasted the occasional support into chunks of half-rotten wood and the power armored sister followed, smashing through the weakened walls at a full sprint.

A few seconds later she kicked open the final door and stood a dozen paces from the knot of officers and the three chimeras, having advanced through the interior of the buildings to bypass the mass of fighting men still clogging the road and the firepower of the chimeras.

The looked at her, dumbfounded. She raised her bolter and squeezed the trigger. It clicked empty.

They drew sabers and chainswords and the chief among them a power sword that crackled with energy. "Kill her." He said.

It was one against a dozen and three vehicles. Vitruvia felt no fear or doubt. A childhood of psychosocial conditioning, brutal lessons and hourly indoctrination in the Schola Progenium had been followed by fanaticism of the Sisterhood. The fearless insanity of the martyr came upon her but who but the insane had the strength to prosper?

Chainsword and bolt pistol swept into her hands and las pistol fire raked her power armor. Embolden by their numbers the officers met her charge. Vitruvia met them with maddened furry.

Men fell, faces little but gaping wounds from her bolt pistol and her arm went numb from the hammering of chainsword against chainsword. Her bolt pistol was lost as a power sword drove through her left forearm and blood ran freely from a deep cut on her left side, under the cermite plate.

The force of her attack carried her through the mass of men, in her wake leaving several dead and two others dying in puddles of their own viscera. She darted between two of the chimeras and climbed aboard one as it's driver panicked and reversed once more.

The top hatch flipped open and one of the crew members fired his laspistol point blank into her armor. She blistered from the heat and split his head to the teeth, chainsword roaring as she ripped it free. The officers screamed for the chimera to stop and Vitruvia swayed as she dragged the crewman free, tore the grenades from his belt and hurled them into the open hatch and leaped free of the vehicile.

It's promethium fuel cells exploded with a dull 'whump' that knocked her flat. Orange flames spewed fifteen feet into the sky and black smoke billowed out, flickering with the sinister glow of the inferno at their heart, like a barely obscured portal into hell. T

Every bone in Vitruvia's body ached but she rose, animated by a hatred so deep hatred was no longer the word. Blood slicked fingers fumbled as she slammed another sixty round drum into her bolter. The officers choked and gagged as they stumbled and crawled from the smoke and one of the chimeras reversed blindly, bouncing up the curb and ramming the wall. Jammed it's gears screamed as the poorly trained driver made things worse.

Concealed within the black smoke Vitruvia dropped to one knee, flipped her bolter to semi auto and activated her helm's thermal vision. She could see the cold bar of the transparent durasteel view-slit against the hotter cermite armor of the chimera. Behind it was the driver.

Vitruvia aimed and squeezed. The durasteel held. She fired again. Again. Gears screamed and the chimera jerked as the driver lost his nerve. Brilliant beams of light punched through the smoke as the multilaser fired blindly. Bolt after bolt slammed into the slit until it shattered and the sister of battle could see the dim glow of brains and bone against the seat.

The gunner scrambled from the hatch. Vitruvia shot him in the back.

She walked out of the smoke as the last of the PDF front gave way, fleeing in terror before the righteous horde. Those too slow to escape were hacked to pieces.

The final chimera bounced down the street in full flight. Vitruiva fired a burst into it's left track. A second. A third. The poorly maintained track snapped and the chimera careened wildly, rolling over the curb and splattering head first into a ditch of dirty water. Militia men swarmed it, prying at the hatches with bloodsoaked hands.

The officer with the power sword stood shellshocked in the road as his broken men streamed by him. Soot and mud and Vitruvia's blood smeared his white uniform.

Vitruvia walked toward him, drawing her chainsword in her good hand. The officer tossed the powersword aside and drew an ornate laspistol.

He put it in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

It was over.

Are you prepared to die for me?

“Aye, Inquisitor.” There was no need for further discussion or prevarication; she reloaded Permanence and quietly breathed a prayer commending her soul to the Emperor's mercy, and without another word she was gone.

Are you prepared to die for me?

At full sprint, she ran towards the great wall of the compound, pressing herself against the grey rockcrete. She moved along the edge of the edifice, sarissa leading the way through the hot, smoke-heavy air as she peered around the corner of a large buttress. Across a loading bay, a heavy gate was open, two crossed blades embossed around the middle where the two doors met. Further along the wall, an almost-empty motorpool lay unguarded, with only a pair of soldiers sharing a joke beside a burning barrel, their hands oustretched for warmth – and importantly, their attention away from the party of the faithful approaching step-by-step.

Are you prepared to kill for me?

“Wait for my signal,” whispered Lisbeth, taking two more short steps toward the gate. She peered over into the rear entrance, eyes darting from point to point. In the shadows, behind a stack of barrels in a pool of oil, out of sight – the perfect place to hide and plan the next move. She was all set to go when the voice gave an order she did not expect.

Kill them. Lisbeth found herself levelling Permanence at the two guards, her finger stroking the trigger. It would be easy – two bursts and both would be dead before they even heard the gunshot. It would be the simplest of things to do – and so little to do in return for the Emperor's eternal grace and love.

Kill them. She hesitated. The Inquisitor, the instrument of His will, had made it clear that this was to be a quiet entry. But He was countermanding the order, and now Lisbeth was faced with two mutually exclusive commands. This was not her place – her role was to obey, not to decide which orders she liked. She breathed out of her nostrils, emptying her lungs, and curled her finger around-

BrrrrrrrkkkkKKHHHAAAOOOOOOSH

To the east, a huge explosion rocked the hive, and the two guards ducked behind one of the trucks, out of sight. The decision, it seemed, had been made for her. Las-bolts and gunfire rattled through the hot, metallic air, and unable to complete one set of orders, Lisbeth settled for the other. “Quickly, follow.” Sprinting, she dashed half the way to the waste barrels and slid across the garage floor, tracking her robe through the oil and muck as she went. She looked back over her shoulder and waved the stragglers over, mumbling a faint “my apologies,” though to whom she was unsure.

Are you prepared to die for me?

It seemed the Emperor truly was smiling upon her this day. Not only had he- or one of his followers, perhaps Sister Vitruvia or Confessor Horacio- managed to draw away most of the enemy's forces in one fell swoop, or so it seemed from the ever-so-slightly cracked door, but so too had Inquisitor Kliment seen sense in her plan and taken it to heart, announcing that Sister Lisbeth would be the one to take point, whilst Alexa followed on behind with the Inquisitor and other Sororitas in their task force.

With utmost assurance that they would be safe in their actions, Alexa nodded at the Inquisitor's words, stepping forth to sally on beside him and her fellows, and then sprinting forth behind Vitruvia as she all but charged the installation - in stealth, of course. It was but a matter of due course that they eventually reached a nearly-unguarded entryway to the fortress, with but two men standing by and chatting about the day's events. Sister Lisbeth gave the order for the others to stay back, then stepped forward and... almost seemed to pause for a moment?

And then levelled her weapon in the direction of the guards. Alexa's eyes widened behind the visor of her helmet; if she fired her weapon now, any semblance of stealth would be ruined! She had to stop the woman before she did anything stupid, she decided; slowly stepping forward behind Lisbeth, Alexa reached out ever so steadily, not wishing to scare her ally into firing mistakenly...

And then the far-off hive city seemed to explode, and every single guard left in the keep seemed to go on high alert at the same time. Alexa was partly relieved, and partly shocked. Had that ruined their stealth advantage? She wasn't quite sure, and whilst it was rare for an Adepta Sororitas to feel overwhelmed, it did suddenly feel as though everything was happening at once, requiring a couple of seconds to adjust to the change in circumstances that could have proven lethal in, say, a pitched ambush. This, perhaps, was why Sister Lisbeth had been put in charge.

As if to further the internal point, Lisbeth beckoned for the group to follow on, and quickly chased after the shorter woman on foot as she slid behind a pair of waste barrels, ruining her good robes with the muck of the place. Honestly, was there any reason she had to do that? It was frivolous to an extreme. Either way, Alexa's weapon remained ready in her hand, sarissa in place to slay any foe who might pass near their group, and weapon primed to fire if necessary.

@jbeil@BCTheEntity@Kratesis@Andreyich

“All of them?”

“All of them, sir.”

It was desperate now, the majority of the PDF garrison having been torn apart by the civilians of the Hive, dogged on by some sort of preacher and his Sororitas guards; the unknown Inquisitor was behind all this, that much Van Der Schartz knew and it vexed him far more than anything ever had in his life.

“They will come for us next,” he stated half to himself and half to De'Shard, “secure this area with whatever we have left, I do not want anyone getting in or out!”

Desperation bred paranoia but also caused the Colonel to feel like a rat backed into a corner, the NCO barracks cordoned off by a ring of only his most loyal soldiers – some armed only with their lasguns, and at least two heavy weapon emplacements behind sandbags, one las-cannon and one heavy stubber; all-in-all it would be dangerous for anyone to assault the place, unless you were a highly trained servant of the Imperium.

“She said we would be safe...she promised we were doing His work...” muttered the Colonel as he paced back and forth, “why would they want to kill us? We are only carrying on His work!”

De'Shard made sure that one fist was wrapped about the laspistol at his hip, concealed under the table he sat at but within easy reach. His CO was losing it now, and soon enough he may try to take both their lives, but the wily Vox-Operator would make sure that only one of them did not walk out of here.

---

“Horacio and Sister Procyon should be bringing the cavalry any moment,” Kliment noted with a smile – old Earth adages being something he studied in his spare time - “we must make a move before then, I believe.”

Making sure that all his Sisters were gathered about him, and whipping an =][= shaped rosette from somewhere, he held it up as he strode out of his cover, twisting his head briefly to hiss back at his protectors, “if they begin to fire, kill them all, but I want their commander alive.”

“I am Inquisitor Kliment of His most holy Inquisition, and you are all in violation of his will,” announced his baritone voice to all within earshot, “drop your weapons now and no-one need die. Resist, and each of you will be executed as a traitor.”

Holding his rosette up high for all to see, his other hand not far from his own weapon, Kliment noted the conflict coming over some faces. More than a couple of PDF troopers looked to another, seeking some way to get out of this situation, but unfortunately for them there truly was none.

Without warning a streak of crimson las whipped past his head, Kliment already moving as the stubber opened up on where he had been stood, the surprisingly nimble agent tucking himself into a diving roll and ending up behind the wall of a nearby building. Almost unconsciously he slid his pistol from his hip, looking back to where the Sororitas were squatting, before waving his pistol toward the NCO barracks.

“Kill them, kill them all!”

"Kill them all." That was an order Alexandra was more than capable of executing without a word. Flicking the firing mode on the bolt pistol to single shot, she leaned out from behind the waste barrels and began taking targeted shots at the foe as they attempted to reorganise themselves. One, two, three kills; the fourth round missed, and the fifth, since she'd ducked back behind the barrels of waste to avoid supressive fire.

It was as she took her sixth and seventh shots that a frag grenade skidded across the ground next to her, and furthermore to her allies. Without thinking, she dropped her gun and scooped up the bomb with one hand, hurling it back to explode several meters away. This resulted in minimal enemy casualties at best; far more pertinent was the shard of shrapnel that wound up flying toward her, smacking into her right arm at the joint. The power armour itself wasn't damaged, but the yell-drawing burst of intense pain indicated that something nasty had been done to the flesh within.

Getting back into cover, she clutched her arm for a moment, teeth clenched as she held back any further noise. That wasn't going to be usable without attention, was it... damnable weapons, grenades, when you had to handle them being thrown at, rather than by you. There were relatively few handheld weapons that power armour couldn't fend off at least reasonably, but even moderately powerful grenades had every opportunity to damage or destroy it and the person within with both the shockwave and high-speed shrapnel, not to mention the possibility of it physically flinging you away if close enough. That wasn't even accounting for the stronger grenade types, those designed to destroy heavy protection, or cut through it like it wasn't there, or simply vaporise a portion of the field and everything- everybody- that happened to be in the blast radius.

Nonetheless, she didn't have time to be concerned about a mere useless limb. That could be fixed later. Grabbing her bolt pistol with her left hand where it had dropped- three rounds left, at least two shots wasted- she moved round the blast-damaged barrels and the contents they had begun spilling over the ground and began to seek new cover. Since it was convenient, she rushed to the side of the Inquisitor she had been charged with protecting, eyes open for new cover she could move into, closer to the foe, that she might slay them with her gun's melee attachment now that ranged combat was far less suitable an option. Even in power armour, bolt weapons had enough kick to make wielding them one-handed difficult. And her ammunition was relatively limited, besides.

The order came, and Lisbeth began to sing.

"A spiritu dominatus,
Domine, libra nos!"

Standing bolt-upright, Lisbeth pulled back the bolt from her weapon and Permanence joined in song. Spraying the fire across the ranks of the Guard, two mass-reactive rounds found their homes in the chest of a corporal who burst into a sea of flesh from the waist up, falling back onto a grim-faced sergeant who shoved the corpse away and started firing back with an old-looking pistol. Lisbeth rolled aside under the las-blasts behind a column, reloading her bolter and leaning out to spit out another burst of fire.

"From the lightning and the tempest, our Emperor, deliver us." The words of the Fede Imperialis brought a calm serenity to Lisbeth's mind, and a relaxed fluidity to her movements. Lean, aim, pull trigger, retract. This was what she was born to do. Again she rolled out to her left, behind a vehicle hull pockmarked with las-blasts, and she touched her hand to the fleur-des-lis about her neck, and roared the next line of the Fede Imperialis "From plague, deceit, temptation and war, Our Emperor, deliver us," Lisbeth sang, as she rushed out from the shelter with her sarissa levelled at the nearest target.

She fell upon the surprised guardsman's flank, piercing the thin layers of flak before he could even turn around to register the short power-armoured woman piling into his side. The point of the sarissa tore through both lungs and his right ventricle, bursting each as the rest of the heavy, spiked blade followed through. Kicking the betrayer off the end of her weapon, Lisbeth's hand went to her belt, tearing a pair of frag grenades away as she spun back behind cover. A few las-bolts glanced off her pauldrons, scorching the sign of the Ordo Hereticus before the fragmentation grenades burst, spraying shrapnel in all directions. A dozen men went down screaming, and to her own detriment Lisbeth allowed to gaze to hang on the site of the explosion so long that a small piece of that very shrapnel buried in her cheekbone, sending her reeling behind a pillar as she let her bolter hang by the strap. Singing while she pulled at the wound, she ground her teeth together and ripped out the hot metal, pain radiating across her skull. "From the sssssssssCOURge of the KraaAken,
Our Emperor, deliver ussSSS!"

@jbeil@Andreyich@Kratesis@BCTheEntity

The Guard were the sledgehammer of the Emperor, rank upon rank of armoured might and flak-vested infantry, the armed might of humanity used to smash asunder all opposition. The Adeptus Astartes, the Angels of Death, had often been compared to the scalpel – a precision instrument of His divine will – an elite among elites and almost always the last thing an enemy of the Imperium would see before their demise by bolter or blade. Then there were the Adepta Sororitas, the Maidens of the Emperor, healers, scholars and warriors blended into a shell of peak physicality and clad in a lesser form of power armour to bring fiery destruction to His foes.

All this passed through the mind of Kliment as he watched the Sisters advance on the enemy position, explosive rounds blowing what had once been men into puffs of gore, sacred promethium – a favourite of the Sororitas – sending traitors to their flaming ruin, and out there on the field a voice more apt to the shared vocalisations of a feminine choir suddenly began the Fede Imperialis. Such a sight and the multitude of sounds assailing his ears may have bought him to tears, had he been able to cry after the removal of his tear ducts, but he had no doubt that the emotion he felt was nothing compared to the eternal torment of those PDF troopers souls.

His thoughts were interrupted as a figure dropped down beside him, none other than the Amazonian Hospitaller apparently, one arm dangling from her side while she gripped her bolt pistol in the other; Emperor but he had been right to request their protection, for they were truly his chosen.

“Sister, are you alright?” He questioned, leaning around the corner long enough to sight and destroy a grim-faced trooper in a flurry of shots to the largest body mass, the man thrown backward by the momentum of the shots into his body. She did not appear too injured to him, and he had to get into the barracks before his quarry could get away, “follow me when you can.” His face was oddly reassuring then, one hand pressed to her shoulder before he too stood from his squatting position and advanced on the enemy.

“From the blasphemy of the Fallen,
Our Emperor, deliver us.”

Although clearly not a Sister or a member of the Ecclesiarchy, he was as aware of the Sororitas battle prayer as any other, his bionic eye glaring with a baleful light as he mouthed the words in his own deep voice.
One-by-one the voices of two became the voices of many, female voices raised high in praise of the God-Emperor even as shells whined around them and bodies were piled up on both sides, the fire from the PDF slackening as their foes began to wonder why they were fighting and just where their loyalties lay.

“From the begetting of daemons,
Our Emperor, deliver us,

From the curse of the mutant,
Our Emperor, deliver us,

A morte perpetua,
Domine, libra nos.”

The last words were spat froth in a catechism of hate, their adversaries beginning to break under the withering storm of superior shots and sturdier belief, some even throwing down their arms and falling to their knees. Kliment was immune to such things however, having passed the death sentence of entire planets in his long life, gunning down a trio of troopers even as they surrendered; to him they were traitors and nothing more.

In a fibre-muscled burst of speed he leapt over the sandbags of the enemy cordon, hammering two gunners into unconsciousness with the butt of his pistol, before propelling himself, alone and unprotected, into the interior of the NCO barracks.

---

Van Der Schartz was already dead when Kliment hammered down the doorway into the comm-room of the building, his pistol scanning for foes as he entered, his eyes moving first to the corpse in the middle of the floor – a still steaming hole burned through the centre of his forehead – and then to the eerily calm Operator sat by a crackling vox-set.

“My apologies for the mess,” said De'Shard with a smile, “but the Colonel had somewhat of an accident.”

The Inquisitor moved with the grace of a feline, moving around until he stood in front of the Operator, his pistol pointed directly at him.

“Well,” shrugged De'Shard, “I won't be needing this any more.”

One las-pistol was thrown to the floor, the man who had been holding it now lifting his hands up to show his empty palms.

“You can't stop it,” he sniffed nonchalantly, “everything will be as She said, whether you believe stopping us here will make any difference or not. We were told to expect you you see, told that one of you may come, he told us on Her behalf and he was right.”

“Speak plain, heretic!” Barked Kliment, “and I will make sure that you receive a quick death.”

“Heretic?” The seated man looked genuinely confused by this, his face showing that whatever it was he believed in that he believed it sincerely, “you still don't understand.” His voice was full of pity now, his tone like that of a teacher or parent speaking with a child, “we did this for the Emperor, under instructions from His emissaries...we did nothing wrong.”

“By the Throne you have some nerve...who do you speak of? Who?!”

“Immortality Through Faith, Inquisitor, that is what your comrade-in-arms told us – he said that She would be reborn through her faith, an angel to fight at the side of the God-Emperor, and that through them both we would live forever.”

Comrade-in-arms? She? Something deeper was happening in this sector, something more than he knew or could see, something that had already caused disturbances on other worlds and something that needed to be stopped.

---

Kliment emerged from the barracks with the now silent De'Shard in tow, his hands bound with vox wire and a stupefied smile across his face, not a mark of violence upon him...not yet.

Vitruva's forces were victorious but victory was, as always, the moment of greatest vulnerability. Battle had exhausted them and as the wave of righteous wrath and the jubilation of victory pass they were left drained of all vitality and vigor. The wounded screamed or begged for water and the rudamentry squads the Sister of Battle had established disintigrated as the survivors decended into an orgy of looting.

Frateris militia were the final line of defense for a reason. Discipline, order and leadership were more than just words.

The sun crept through the sky as she fought a one woman battle against chaos. The wounded were separated into groups based on the severity of their wounds and those with rudimentary medical skills assigned to aid those who could still be saved. Those who could not were taken into a nearby basement and given the emperor's mercy with a rusted laspistol. Squads were reformed and looted equipment distributed among the surviving militia which provided a considerable boost to their firepower. Prisoners were interrogated by Vitruvia herself, though not a Hospitaller the horrors a chainsword could inflict in the hands of a fanatical holy warrior snapped the will of more than a few of the PDF unlucky enough to not perish in the fighting. It was through intelligence gathered by crude and brutal interrogation that she learned of the base from which the PDF had been dispatched.

Vitruvia summoned one of the militia and gave orders immediately upon discovering this. "Go to Horacio, if he yet lives. Tell him of our victory and that we have learned the location of the PDF's base, which I strongly suspect is the den from which this heresy springs. Also convey to him the location of said base and that I and my forces will be making my way there with all speed so that it may be assaulted before they understand what has happened here. The fog of war will shield the righteous if we have the wisdom to strike now."

Orders given the holy warrior set out, driving her exhausted militia with merciless zeal. Some stragglers fell to the wayside, unable to keep the pace and weighed down by looted weapons and armor taken from the defeated PDF. Others were brought low by the respiratory wasting sicknesses brought on by a lifetime of breathing the suffocating smog the lower classes dwelled in. And others still slunk away, their taste of battle breaking their courage, some thinking they had done their duty to the Emperor and others simply frightened by the grusome reality of violent conflict.

It was a much reduced force that arrived at the compound with Vitruvia at their head, a psalm building behind her lips and visions of glorious battle against the enemies of the God-Emperor playing in her minds eye.

The reality was a crushing disappointment. Inquisitor Kliment and her sisters had already stormed the compound. There would be no climatic battle against the beating heart of this heresy; the Emperor in his wisdom had seen fit to deny her that honor. She choked back her disappointment as she entered the compound, black power armor covered in dust and the smeared blood of her forgotten wounds.

For a moment she imagined what could have been if she had been quicker. More disciplined. Better. A final battle, side to side with the Inquisitor! Glory or martyrdom in the Emperor's name!

She removed her helmet and tucked it under her left arm as she made her way through the remains of the battle, arriving at the scene as Kilment emerged with his prisoner in tow.

It was a victory but to Vitruvia it felt hollow and she silently vowed to devote herself to the study of leadership, tactics and swordplay like never before. Mere service to the Emperor was not enough. The God-Emperor of Mankind deserved greatness.