Smash 'em lads! Kill da 'umies!" roared Dorgut, spittle flying from the Nob's fanged maw as he waved his churning chainaxe. Urtsnick didn't have an choppa like that, one that roared with spinning teeth. But he had his own, a sharpened steel plate fastened to battered piece of pipe. He had lovingly nailed jagged iron triangles along the edge of the blade, to make it cuttier, and adorned it with the checked black and white of his Klan.
"Goffs, Goffs, Goffs! chanted the boyz as they pelted through the burning streets. Urtsnick jostled with Worg and Gartad to try make it to the front of the mob, but the press of muscled bodies was too thick. He heard the artillery blasts, rapid gunshots filling the air in front of him. The excitement swelled in his mind, the kind he got from foitin' and killin'.
All he could see was the leather armoured back of Gorshud though. "Get out me way git!" screamed Urtsnick, shoving the impeding ork aside. Gorshud turned and lashed out with his cudgel. "Who you callin' git!?" he roared, smashing his weapon into Urtsnick's armoured shoulder.
"WAAAAAAGH! roared Urtsnick as the rage took him and he buried his choppa in Gorshud's stoopid 'ead. That was enough to drive the surrounding orks into a frenzy, swords swung and axes fell in a maelstrom of green anger. Urtsnick laughed as hacked an arm off Gartad, not seeing Dorgut approach and batter him to the ground, sending a few blood-speckled teef chattering across the pavement. "Wat youz doin' boyz!? bellowed the Nob, whacking orks with the flat of his chainaxe. "Boss sayz we're 'ere to kill 'umies, so I SAYZ WE KILL 'UMIES!"
But the orks we're having too good a time to listen, and Urtsnick laughed as Dorgut was forced to decapitate Nagrod as the ork swiped at him with a jagged blade.
Urtsnick gathered up his teef and stuffed them in his loot bag, where he kept his most valuable belongings. He was about to bring up his choppa and whack Worg, but his eyes widened as he caught sight of approaching figures in black armour with flowing robes of red.
"UMIES!" he roared in delight, and charged as fast as his stubby legs would carry him, pulling out his heavy pistol and blasting with abandon.
Bolter fire answered him, tearing into his chest and arm and throwing him to the dirt. A boot hit him in the face as the boyz charged over him, shouting and roaring. Urtsnick grunted with pain as he pulled himself up, he'd lost his pistol, but still gripped his axe.
The bolters had cut down eight orks, their broken bodies sprawled where they fallen. But most of the mob had reached the 'umies, and the melee was in full swing. The armoured slabs green muscle clashed against black plate, the 'umies and boyz both screaming to their gods. Dorgut's chainaxe was churning through the guts of a unhelmeted 'umie, her white hair matted with blood as she roared in pain and defiance. Urtsnick charged a battle sister that was wrenching her own chainblade from Worg's thick neck, her helmet masking the rage beneath as she glared at the oncoming xeno. She brought her blade up just in time to parry the ork's overhead swing, sparks flying off the whirring teeth. Urtsnick struck again, and again, driving her back, until she ducked a strike and charged, raking her blade across Urtsnicks's side. The ork howled, but brought his axe down on his enemy's head with a crack. The ceramite armour held, but the blow drove her to the ground with its force. Urtsnick hit her again, but her shoulder guard deflected the blow with a clang.
If it don't break, 'it it 'arder.
"WAAAAAGH!" roared Urtsnick, adding his voice to the warcry of the boyz, and brought his choppa down with all his strength. With surprising dexterity, the battle sister rolled to side, the choppa cracking a paving slab. Urtsnick growled with annoyance and readied his weapon for another swing, aiming for the 'umie's back. But a steel shod boot slammed down instead, pinning her in place. Dorgut growled at the the struggling sister. He had lost his chainaxe, and gripped the 'umie's head in his brutish hands.
"Die 'umie!" the nob bellowed, wrenching and pulling the battle sister's skull. Urtsnick grinned as he heard her muffled scream, her arms flailing helplessly. With a crack and tear of flesh, the head came free, still helmed in Dorgut's fist.
"Oi!" snarled Urtsnick. "Dat 'umie was moin ye git!"
"Shut it grunt!" shot back the nob, sneering down at the smaller ork. "You can't foit fer nutin', so dis…" he held out the head, blood leaking from the severed neck, "is moin. Now sod off!"
The other orks were busy finishing off wounded sisters and looting corpses from both sides. Urtsnick spied an 'umie, her armour battered and bloody, slowly dragging herself towards an abandoned bolt pistol. Her arm was outstretched, gauntleted fingers splayed.
Urtsnick needed a new pistol.
He slammed his boot down on her hand as it grasped the grip.
"Moin," he growled, and his axe bit down.
"Garb yourselves in armour and faith, arm yourselves with bolter, blade and righteous fury. Honour the Emperor, for he will deliver you from the blasphemy of the xenos, just as you will cleanse their taint."
Camyra strode down the ranks of newly sworn battle sisters, looking each one in the eye as she passed. She saw devotion, determination, and hatred, emotions aspired to by their sacred duty. She was shamed she did not feel the same furor.
As she reached the end of the ranked warriors she turned and surveyed them, her sisters that she would lead to war. None came up to her shoulder. Most barely fitted into their armour.
"You have been born for this, to the fires of holy war, the purest form of worship that we can offer unto Him on Terra. You are the Emperor's instruments, blades unsheathed to purge this planet from the unclean. You go forth to cleanse the alien that befouls this world, HIS world, where his Saints hath bestrode in glory!"
Curse me, for I send them to nothing but futile death on a world lost to the Emperor's sight.
The girls before her, novices only an hour ago, untested and untrained, were to be sent into the heart of the losing battle for Sanctum.
But they would do their duty. This was all they knew, a life of discipline, service and devotion to the Immortal Emperor. Camyra bit back tears, of both sadness and pride, as she saw that not one of the girls showed one hint of fear or trepidation.
It was time. Canoness Derolla would be waiting at the front.
"Follow on sisters, let us cleanse and burn!"
The chamber echoed with the clank of ceramite as the troop moved out, the sisters chanting their devotions. Sister Mia, carrying her flamer in hands too small, fell in beside Camyra.
"Where shall we enter the fray Sister Superior?" she asked in her sweet voice.
"We have been called to reinforce our sisters in North Wing of the Cathedral, the chapel of Saint Bordellus ," answered Camyra. "The orkoid throw themselves at our defences, but we will strike them down."
They marched by tapestries of prayers and past glories, painstakingly transcribed through millennia. Dusty remains inlaid in alcoves stared at her accusingly with empty sockets.
It had been a week since the ork fleet had arrived in Sanctum's orbit, raining down earth-shattering ordnance upon it's holy cities. From the bellies of the scrap-vessels came howling warriors, thousands upon thousands of them, clashing against the faithful in the once grand streets, now choked with rubble and corpses. The ill-equipped Planetary Defence Force had been smashed on the plains outside the capital. Nothing had been heard from Cardinal Cyriad in four days, it was widely assumed the fat fool was dead after the Ecclesiarchial Palace had been overrun. That waste of flesh was no loss, thought Camyra, but his Sororitas detail and Crusader bodyguards would be sorely missed. Canoness Derolla, fiery and fanatical even at over a hundred years old, had taken charge of Sanctum's defences, or what was left of them. The Sororitas forces had taken the brunt of the ork assault on the capital city, out of a standing force of nine hundred battle sisters, barely half that clung to barricades and strong points, reinforced by rabbles of Frateris Militant, priests and press ganged civilians.
And now the fifty girls that follow me.
"May the Emperor guide my purifying flame. I have prayed for this day, for a chance to prove my devotion," said Mia.
"The Emperor knows it already, child," said Camyra, trying to dissuade thoughts of suicidal acts of glory. "You are one of our most promising sisters, devoted in spirit and and skillful in body. Your dedication speak for itself."
"You honour me, Sister Superior…"
Camyra did not reply. The rumbling of artillery could be heard ahead. The golden light of Sanctum's evening sky hit their armour as they passed through doors of oak into the priory's courtyard. Rubble was strewn across the flagstones and smoke billowed from flaming debris.
She could see a ragtag group of sisters and civilians filing into the courtyard from the great arched doors of the Cathedral. Camyra approached, eyeing the sisters battered armour and grievous wounds. The sisters were all being supported or carried on stretchers, for no member of the Adepta Sororitas would ever leave battle while they could still fight.
Holding out her armoured hand, Camyra stopped a man as he passed."How goes the fighting?"
He shook his head, his face filled with fear,and tried to hurry away. Coward, thought Camyra, an able man unwilling to fight. Her gauntlet closed on his tunic with an iron grip.
"You would flee your duty to the Emperor? She growled.
"No… no sister, please I…"
"While my sisters fight and die!?" Camyra shouted. Her anger boiled. She was leading children to the slaughter, and this scum would seek sanctuary from the fighting? "You are filth, a heretic no better than the foul xenos you flee from!"
The man whimpered, not even struggling. His weakness made her sick.
"You are not even worth a bolt…"
She hurled him away, the man collapsing in a shivering ball of cowardice. Disgusting.
"Follow on," she called to her charges. Death awaited.