We're Not Soldiers

by firstwetakedc

Sister Felicity (a Sister Pronatus of the Order of the August Vigil) and Eddzo (a Penal Trooper) don't have much in common, but when Chaos forces stage an uprising in the middle of the night, they're both called upon to defend the city to the best of their abilities. This is my first story for , & I couldn't figure out how to divide it into chapters. Sorry!

We're Not Soldiers

Sister Felicity opened the window, felt the cool breeze on her face, and stuck her head out. As usual for this time of year, she glanced left and right to take in the image of the warren-like construction of Rymon's Old City, and the newer districts beyond the Old City's walls, all painted by the setting sun. Glancing down, she could see much less of the city and far more of the Hilltop- the highest point in the Old City, taking up part of its northern edge, and home to Saint Erica's Cathedral. Outside the Cathedral, the Hilltop was a plaza of trees, rippling pools, outbuildings, and its own set of ancient, magnificent walls. She turned and finished descending the stairs, left through the Cathedral's southern doors, and descended the front steps into the night. She moved through the lights cast from the Cathedral's windows and back into the darkness as she headed for the dormitory hallway where she lived with her fellow Sisters Pronatus of the Order of the August Vigil.

Once inside her small, spare quarters, Felicity made the sign of the aquila and recited a litany of thanks to the Emperor for providing another peaceful day. She then activated her lamp and made sure her window was shuttered before doffing her cobalt blue duty robes. In truth, it had indeed been a peaceful day. The contrast between her two primary duties would always be a source of amazement for her. While at home on the Hilltop, she helped to care for the Temple's collection of holy relics, including the revered Skull of Saint Erica. She and her Sisters researched and analyzed these objects, particularly when new pieces were brought to their attention. There were no psykers working on the Hilltop - Felicity cringed at the very thought of any of them in the vicinity - but everyone who spent time near the relics could feel the palpable spiritual power they possessed.

Felicity's favorite duties involved assisting pilgrims who came to visit the Shrine of Saint Erica. Most were on-worlders from Makolic or other settled orbs in the same star system, but it was not uncommon for pilgrims to arrive from various and sundry places across the Milky Way. Some were drawn to Makolic and intended to stay; others were nomadic, bouncing from holy place to holy place for most or all of their lives, while others still entertained the thought of returning to their home worlds. In any case, Felicity always found it fascinating, and sometimes an absolute joy, to guide and advise the pilgrims as they invariably stood in awe while in the presence of Saint Erica's relics. Happy tears were the norm.

Today had been such a day, Felicity's turn for a shift in the Shrine itself. Sisters Shiori and Carlotta were giving a presentation at a scholarium in town, and Sister Superior Patricia spent the morning and afternoon running errands in town- or doing something similar, inasmuch as there were numerous gentlemen out there- before returning to the bowels of the Cathedral to do research. That left Felicity in the Shrine, doing what she loved; and, as usual, the hours just flew by.

Felicity thought of the dinner she had just left. Pontifex York, in between bites at his elevated table at the end of the room with the other senior clergy and staff, had carried on in his usual inscrutable manner as Carlotta was recounting the details of her and Shiori's outing.

"They were lovely. When Shiori came around the corner in her armor, all their little jaws dropped."

"Mmm-hmm?" replied Pontifex York, staring intently into the liquid in his goblet and whirling it gently.

"Umm, and then we passed around the case with the jewelry," Carlotta continued, seeming a bit awkward now. She was referring to some of Saint Erica's trinkets, of little value compared with the relics that did not leave the Cathedral under any circumstances. "And it was the same reaction. You know how kids are..."

It seemed uncertain that the Pontifex did, or if he even thought about it at all, as he raised a spoonful of pudding to his mouth, intently focused on that, more than anything else.

"… They were all silent, in awe, except when they'd say 'let me see!' and things like-"

"Any mutants?" York cut in. Carlotta stopped mid-sentence and looked a bit confused before speaking again.

"Sir?"

"You heard me. Did you two see any signs of mutation? Anywhere? In anybody- age and position don't matter. You know that."

"No, not as far as..."

"Sister Shiori?"

"No, Pontifex," answered Shiori. "Carlotta and I noticed nothing amiss."

She and Carlotta looked at one another in solidarity.

"Sister Felicity?" asked York.

"Sir?" she answered, noticing that all eyes were seemingly on her.

"Anybody come by today who I should know about?"

"Umm, let me think..." Felicity felt silly as she became tense and nervous. There were so many worse positions to be placed in, but then again, disappointing York could make her life plenty miserable on its own.

A few seconds plodded past, and then Felicity realized she did, indeed, have some news for the Pontifex.

"Lieutenant Hui came by with his family. He asked for you, and I said you were indisposed."

York turned to Madam Wadey, his secretary, a tall, slender, gray-haired woman seated with him at the dais.

"Who?" he sneered.

"The PDF officer, sir," the secretary replied.

"Oh, him. I hate him."

Felicity wondered if she was supposed to say something else. She furtively looked at her Sisters, all more experienced, who all returned her confused glance. Will it always be like this, she wondered.

"Well?"the Pontifex broke the silence again. "Don't just sit there in silence! Talk amongst yourselves!" He finished with a loud, dismissive glottal chortle. Without skipping a beat, Madam Wadey began a conversation with the others on the dais, while at Felicity's larger, longer table, Confessor DePrato immediately continued with his story of a battle on some world with a name Felicity had already forgotten.

"So there I was, all alone, staring up at this huge Ork Nob. Now, I was the last man standing after that blast; not all the Troopers around me were dead, you see, but everybody was down. I thank the Emperor for the presence of mind I had in that second, as a second or less was all I had. So I did it all in one fluid motion: I grabbed the krak grenade from my waistband- and I didn't even have a chance to make sure it wasn't a frag- armed it, and tossed it sidearm," he said, extending his right arm with a goblet clenched in his hand.

The clergyman continued. "I wasn't thinking of myself, of course. I look back on it now, and it seems like everything moved in slow motion, but also all at once. The grenade made contact with a metal part of his armor on the lower abdomen, I dropped to the hard ground, and I heard his gun blast just a few meters above my head while I felt the rumble of the krak grenade blasting into his body, then I felt it again as he fell flat on his back. I could barely hear anything after the gunfire, y'know, my ears were ringing, but I looked up and saw that his gun was on the ground next to him, but I didn't see his axe."

DePrato had the rapt attention of the whole table, and he knew it. The murmuring from the dais at the other end of the room continued, but that didn't lessen the dramatic tension. Felicity realized that obviously the story would end with the preacher alive and victorious, but she was waiting with bated breath as she wondered how it concluded.

DePrato went on. "It was then that I looked behind me and saw it. The head was embedded in the ground, and a piece of my right sleeve was stuck there, flapping in the breeze. He just missed, maybe because the grenade exploded at that moment, I don't know, but I was a few centimeters and a half-second away from at least losing an arm, but almost surely bleeding out! There was no way I could have gotten help."

"Emperor be praised!" Felicity heard herself exclaim. It seemed almost involuntary, like it came out of nowhere. Patricia glanced at her. Does she think I'm just signaling piety? Will it always be like this? Will I end up face-to-face with a huge Ork? We're not soldiers. Felicity's mind raced, then came to an abrupt halt. Dammit girl, get hold of yourself.

Lying down in her bunk, Felicity found herself wondering when her routine would change again. It could come in the form of another off-world mission, or a more mundane shake-up in the Cathedral's staff, or something else entirely. As she drifted off to sleep, Felicity found herself thinking that it would be fine by her if things never changed around here, but all things considered, she just had to keep faith in the God-Emperor, and take what came.

The pounding on her door was nothing like the gentle, reluctant rapping that might have preceded an apologetic request for Sister Felicity's attention at such a time. No, this was non-stop battering from an armored fist, that essentially screamed Wake up Felicity, Now! She did.

"Felicity! Felicity! Answer!" shouted Sister Superior Patricia from the other side of the door.

"Yes, yes M'lady?" answered Felicity, rolling out of bed and bounding to the door. She opened the door to find Patricia standing in the hallway in full power armor and carrying her bolter, with the visor of her helmet raised.

"Armor up and meet me on the balcony, immediately!" answered Patricia, gesturing to her left as a pair of lay staff ran past in the opposite direction. The Cathedral's bells began to toll, loudly and continuously.

"Yes M'lady!" said Felicity, leaving the door open, leaping to her closet and stepping into the lower half of her power armor, mostly colored the same shade of blue as her robes. As she applied the components to the rest of her body and heard and felt them activate, she heard the sounds of running and shouting throughout the building. She lifted her bolter, inserted a magazine, ensured that the safety was on, and charged into the hallway.

Once outside on the balcony, she joined Patricia and Shiori, as Carlotta came up behind her two seconds later. Even before Patricia started speaking, Felicity had already deduced that this was no drill. She could hear reports of gunfire, explosions, and vehicle engines, all at various distances, and several fires and intermittent muzzle flashes were all visible against the darkness.

"Sisters," began Sister Superior Patricia, "the forces of Chaos have staged an uprising, coupled with larger elements arriving, or already arrived, from outside the city. They are attacking the PDF barracks," Patricia gestured at a large fire to the West, "and the Arbites Precinct," she said, pointing to a similar scene of strife to the South. "More urgently, look and listen, Sisters. Multiple columns of heretics are headed to the Old City, and will be entering the gateways in a few minutes if not sooner."

Felicity's blood ran cold as she snapped down the visor on her helmet, glanced around towards the Old City's walls, and got confirmation. She could see vehicle lights, and hear the engines. Most vehicles would not fit through the narrow streets of the Old City, but small ones could, and in any case the vehicles could be carrying a huge number of infantry. Panning across the neighborhood, she could see the Frateris Militia scrambling across the jumbled rooftops and spilling into the streets, carrying their motley assortment of weaponry. She glanced down and saw several Preachers, armed as well, rushing towards the Hilltop's gates and descending into the streets to lead their flocks into battle.

Patricia continued. "Any second now, I should get word fro-" At that moment, the vox unit in each Sister's helmet crackled to life and the voice of Pontifex York cut in.

"Patricia, take your Sisters down immediately and join Confessor DePrato and his retinue on the south steps! I need the lot of you to head out into the streets and smite the heretics before they reach the Hilltop!"

"But wha-" began Patricia, until the Pontifex cut her off.

"We'll guard the relics if we have to, but your team can withdraw in here if you have to. There's no time for any more talk, and that was an order!" The vox went silent.

"You heard the man," sighed Patricia, as she turned and went back inside, with her Sisters following.

The Sisters scurried across the Hilltop and towards the Cathedral's southern entrance. Through the Cathedral's windows, they could see the Cathedral's personnel, clutching lasguns and other light weapons, scurrying to their positions in one of the most serious of contingency plans. In a patch of light at the southern steps, the Sisters saw their fellow Adeptus Ministorum combatants waiting for them. Confessor DePrato stood with his retinue: two Crusaders with their huge shields and swords, wearing suits of dark gray carapace armor; and four Arco-Flagellants, wearing rags, hoods over their pacifier helms, and a bevy of tubes, wires, and implanted weapons in the form of electro-flails, buzzsaws, maces, and the like. As for the Confessor, he hefted a plasma gun, with his chainsword strapped across his back.

Felicity realized that the Confessor was the only one of his nine-member retinue with a ranged weapon (but what a weapon!), and, though this was neither here nor there, the only one whose face was visible. Her orders from the Pontifex made a little more sense now. Even so, she had to fight back feelings of inadequacy. Since her work retrieving (and defending) artifacts could be very dangerous, Felicity and her Sisters had some of the arms and equipment of the Sisters of Battle, but none of the ongoing experience and much less of the ongoing training. With her next thought, Felicity chastised herself. The Frateris Militia soon to be fighting and dying at this moment blocks away were not soldiers either (though some were veterans of the Imperial Guard or PDF), and they were using pathetic wargear when compared to what Felicity had.

"Confessor," said Patricia.

"Sister Superior," said DePrato, returning the greeting. Patricia kept moving forward, DePrato turned and kept pace with her, and the rest of the force followed. They headed across the Hilltop and through the Gate of the Throne, down the gentle slope into the streets of the Old City, in the direction of the commotion of battle.

At a signal from DePrato, one of the Crusaders led three of the Arco-Flagellants to the other side of the street, and Patricia hissed a command into her helmet's vox unit.

"Felicity, Carlotta, cross and join them!" They did so without a word, and the ad-hoc squad never broke its stride as they continued down the hill.

Felicity's mind raced as she stepped down the sidewalk with her comrades. She tried to quiet her internal monologue, as split-second situational awareness was a life-and-death matter, but in any event she sized up the overall situation in seconds. The Old City sat upon a hill of about one square kilometer, and was ringed by stone walls about one story tall. Any permanent, uniformed garrison would violate the Ecclesiarchy's rules concerning "men under arms," so instead, "volunteer posses" of Frateris Militiamen maintained security working under the supervision of one or two Deputies. These groups would have already scrambled to shut the Old City's seven gates, but these great doors were not made to resist high-powered military firepower. They could at least slow down an attacker, and as Felicity heard ahead and to her left and right the sounds of ordnance impacting and exploding, she realized the gates were doing exactly that.

Another chilling thought, this time shot through with confusion, crossed Felicity's mind. Where do we think we're going? If we descend any more, we'll get cut off if the enemy breaks through! They have to know on the Hilltop that the enemy is hitting most of the gates…

With appreciable timing, the vox in Felicity's helmet crackled to life and an unexpected voice, that of Madam Wadey, sounded in her ears.

"Sisters, Confessor, this is Madam Wadey. Whatever you do, don't descend past Gold Street. Have you? If so, back up. We don't want you to get flanked."

"No, M'lady, we have not," replied Patricia. "We're actually just above Gold Street, on Saint Erica's Way."

Saint Erica's Way was the widest street in the Old City, ascending from (appropriately) Saint Erica's Gate (also the largest) at the bottom of the hill, all the way up to the Hilltop. A barbican sat as part of the wall adjacent to the gate, rising about another story above the wall. From their vantage point, Felicity and her companions could see all the way down Saint Erica's Way. A barricade was taking shape about halfway down the hill, under the direction of Preacher Diamanda, as Frateris Militiamen and other armed civilians scurried to and fro, dragging barrels, metal refuse containers, assorted other debris, and piles of bricks and paving stones into position. Past the barricade, Felicity could see the gate starting to splinter and buckle with repeated impacts. The barbican, meanwhile, was taking heavy fire, as it took sprays of ordnance from autocannons, heavy bolters, multi-lasers, and the like.

"We're watching from up here," continued Madam Wadey. "It looks like the barbican and gate are taking a beating."

"Yes M'lady, we see it too. Your orders?" said Patricia, getting right to the point. Three defenders were visible among the barbican's ramparts, firing their stub rifles down at the enemy just beyond the walls. They probably missed their chance to fall back, thought Felicity.

"Yes, Patricia, hang on a moment… All right, yes, I just got word from the Pontifex. Descend and join the barricade. Help them there. Anything getting through the smaller gates won't be as scary as whatever can fit through the front," said Wadey.

"Understood," said Patricia, and in the next second she, her fellow Sisters, and the Confessor and his retinue were running down the street, attracting the attention of some of the militiamen who looked back and saw them coming. Before they arrived, an explosion covered the top of the barbican and felled the three men on it. Seconds later, as the reinforcements neared the barricade, one door of Saint Erica's Gate swung open, and the other splintered in pieces and partly came off its hinges as a perhaps hundred-strong mob of the Lost and the Damned, Heretics and Renegades surged through the gateway and into the Old City.

Felicity made for the nearest open spot in the barricade, squeezing in between two militiamen who gladly gave her space. The man to her left was firing his stub rifle into the incoming horde, working the bolt to eject spent shells, while the man to her right, armed with a stub pistol, was clearly waiting for the enemy to come within range. Felicity took aim and squeezed the trigger, and the thunderclap of her bolter joined those of her Sisters in the cacophony erupting from the barricade. Felicity's shells tore apart two mutants, but as she took aim again, a bullet from an autogun bounced off of her armor, while the rest of the burst kicked up dust from the stones and bricks in front of her. Felicity instinctively pressed herself closer to the barricade and tried to take aim again.

The Chaos mob was a mixed bag, beginning with a screaming, maniacal Mutant Rabble charging straight up the street and firing at the barricade. These physically twisted humans carried a variety of firearms, and a few also had visible melee weapons. They were joined by several squads of Cultists swathed in tight robes and masks, mostly carrying autoguns. These traitors fired bursts at the barricade as they quickly zig-zagged from cover to cover along the sidewalks and streets' peripheries, occasionally aiming upward and spraying windows, balconies, and rooftops. They were joined in this by squads of Renegade Militia (referred to in a case like this by loyal servants of the Emperor as things like Renegades, Traitor Guardsmen, and so on, to avoid confusion with loyal militia fighters), who wore debased uniforms that once marked their loyal service in the Imperial Guard or the Planetary Defense Force of wherever they originated. A cracking volley of shots from their lasguns took off most of one militiaman's head and sent another sprawling to the pavement. A woman wearing a satchel of medical supplies crouched next to him and began to see what she could do. Two militiamen armed only with melee weapons quickly grabbed the stub weapons and ammunition from the fallen and took their places at the barricade.

The situation changed rapidly in about a minute, as the surviving mutants, unable to storm the barricade in one fell swoop, scattered to the fringes, and began to advance much like the rest of their corrupt comrades right behind them. They crept forward, shooting from cover, and looked for a chance to move again when the defenders' heads were down.

The attackers' momentum slackened slightly as the defenders at the barricade found their marks. Confessor DePrato's plasma gun was glowing hot in his gloved hands, as he fired a shot and vaporized a mutant, then pivoted and blasted right through a metal bench and the two Cultists taking cover behind it. The defenders were aided in this by their friends, family members, and other neighbors contributing from windows and rooftops. Many of the less-fit, underage, unarmed, or otherwise not-in-the-streets residents were adding to the defense in their own way. Those with firearms were sniping down at the attackers, while others hurled glass firebombs filled with promethium or other flammable household chemicals. The occasional brick or other blunt object also would come flying down to the street, sometimes making contact with a desired target.

At the same time, while slowed, the traitors kept advancing. Their firing was inaccurate but incessant, and it forced the defenders to remain flush with the barricade and prevented them from finding targets.

"Watch out, I see at least one guy with a heavy stubber out there, on our left!" barked Carlotta over the vox.

"Understood, and I see meltas and flamers out there," added Patricia. "We can't let them get close enough to use those."

The meltaguns and flamers that Patricia warned her Sisters about were indeed short-ranged, but the heavy stubbers faced no such limitations. It was simply a matter of their operators getting a usable angle, and while some of the barricade's defenders tried to target the heavy-stubber-equipped Cultist standing in a doorway ahead and to their left, another such man on the other side of the street poked the barrel of his weapon around the corner of the building he was using for cover, and opened fire. He raked the barrel from side to side, spraying bullets across the top of the barricade, and penetrating a few weak points. Every few seconds he would stop firing to prevent overheating the weapon, take aim, and begin firing again.

Felicity ducked down behind the barricade, changing magazines as she did so. Preacher Diamanda fell, and lay motionless with his eyes open, having been fatally shot through the throat. Two militia fighters to Felicity's right screamed and went down, and another collapsed to her left. Meanwhile, the Arco-Flagellants were crouching out of the way, ready to charge any enemy who came over or behind the barricade, while the Crusaders had inserted their Storm Shields and themselves on either side of Confessor DePrato.

Felicity rose into position in time to see Patricia blast chunks of brick out of the Chaos heavy-stubber-gunner's cover, sending him falling wounded into the alley. Somewhere to her left, Felicity she heard a militiaman exclaim that some of the enemy forces had moved down side streets. More shots bounced off her shoulders and helmet, and she saw that the surviving mutants were only getting closer, sometimes using their dead as shields as some of them brandished frag grenades. One grenade bounced off the barricade and sent its splinters into the defenders' cover, but another mutant threw his with more than enough force to clear the barricade near where Sister Shiori stood. She tackled the two militiawomen beside her, and others dove out of the way, but the grenade's burst killed the medic and wounded others. Felicity saw a Renegade infantryman taking aim, but she fired first, tearing the man in two.

All of this in under five minutes, thought Felicity, and then as she looked for her next target her breath caught in her throat. Groans and gasps arose around her as everyone saw what was coming. An Armored Sentinel, covered in blasphemous symbols, was striding up the street towards the barricade, its autocannon firing bursts of explosive shells into the upper floors and across the roofs of the buildings on either side. Bodies and rubble fell to the pavement. Around the Sentinel jogged about twenty more traitors, all of whom seemed to be Disciples, judging by more regimented appearance and the nauseating, heretical banner one of them carried. Worse, they were preceded by a pair of towering Ogryn Brutes. Worst of all, a Chaos Space Marine, almost as tall as the Ogryns, strode among the Disciples, his armor bedecked with horns, spikes, and heretical sigils, hefting a plasma pistol and a fearsome axe. Felicity zoomed in with her helmet's lenses and saw blood dripping from the blasphemous retinue's weapons and clothes, and she gleaned some clue as to their slight delay.

Those behind the barricade had no way of knowing this, but they were faced with a Chaos Space Marine Lord named Vanmass. His story was a cliché of mass destruction: Once a Captain of the Adeptus Astartes/Space Marines, the Imperium's finest warriors, he had fallen to the worship of the Dark Gods of Chaos relatively recently, and thanks to his prior position of command he had quickly risen to Lordship in the Black Legion. As of this evening he was part of a small team of Heretic Astartes leading the uprising in the city of Rymon.

"Sisters!" barked DePrato, "I'll hit the Sentinel!"

"Understood," responded Patricia. The subtext was obvious. DePrato was the only one with a weapon that could reliably harm the walker from this distance, and would be most helpful against the other hard targets. Accordingly, DePrato leaned into the barricade, took careful aim, not even flinching as a lasgun shot slammed into the shield of the Crusader standing to his left, and fired. The plasma charge hit the Sentinel's hip section, but while it clearly burned its way through most of the armor plating, it did not do enough damage to topple the vehicle.

The Confessor muttered a curse, and, hoping his weapon had one more good shot in it before he would have to let it cool down, he took aim again. Confessor DePrato never got the chance to take that second shot. A lasgun shot from one of the Renegade Guardsmen hit DePrato's plasma gun, and it instantly exploded in a multicolored fireball that vaporized DePrato's entire upper body and sent his two Crusaders, lives saved by their shields, sprawling to the ground.

"Fall back! Covering fire! Grab the wounded!" screamed Sister Superior Patricia, emptying the magazine of her bolter at the Cultists and Renegades working their way up one side of the street. Empty after a couple of seconds, she turned on her heels, mag-locked the weapon to her armor, scooped up a wounded militiaman, and drew her bolt pistol. Felicity, Shiori, and Carlotta followed suit, while some of the militia fighters dropped promethium bombs directly in front of the barricade and others tossed smoke bombs, creating a momentary wall of smoke and flame to obscure their retreat and stall their pursuers.

Several mutants closed the distance and, bounding through the smoke and flames, began to clamber over the barricade. They were met immediately by a counter-charge from the Arco-Flagellants, who quickly cut down the attackers with a flurry of blades and electricity. Without need of a command nor any noticeable communication between them, the penitent foursome held the line for all the time it took for the rest of the defenders to seize the wounded and withdraw, then they swiftly followed, scrambling away from the now-blazing barricade as the main body of Chaos troops arrived.

As Felicity reached down to grab a man with a bandaged head and a dazed look in his eyes, she looked to her left and saw a militiawoman on the ground, wearing a patched dress coated in blood. Felicity wondered for a moment if anyone would rescue this brave fighter, but the prone, snowy-pale woman clutched a pistol in her hand and answered Felicity's unspoken question with a quick shake of her head. Felicity ran along with the retreating defenders, leaving behind corpses, several unlucky wounded, and various weapons. Patricia made a quick right turn down a side street, and the rest of the group followed. Behind them, the sound arose of a flurry of gunshots and the explosion of a frag grenade as the forces of Chaos swarmed over the barricade to encounter the defiant wounded defenders left behind.

Patricia's voice sounded over the vox. "Pontifex, or Madam, we're falling back. They've a Sentinel, and an Ogryn, and..."

"We can see that from here," interrupted Pontifex York, clearly annoyed and frightened.

"We hope to lead them away from the civilians and..."

"Yes, and right towards me and the relics." Pontifex York made a snort of contempt and derision. "Fine. Get the hell up here. York out."

Without missing a beat, Patricia switched her vox channel to the widest band, and made an announcement to any defenders equipped to hear her. "Anyone in the Old City, this is Sister Superior Patricia. If you can retreat to the Hilltop do so, if not, go to ground. If the heretics come near, I trust you will all sell your lives dearly. For the Emperor!"

Felicity wondered how many of the Old City's defenders (let alone the civilians more broadly) could hear the message, let alone obey it. All around, the streets echoed with the sounds of gun battles, as residents fired weapons and tossed ordnance from rooftops and windows, drawing much larger fusillades of murderous return fire from the Chaos forces. Felicity could also hear the pom-pom-pom of the Sentinel's autocannon and the ensuing explosions as it blasted apart locations of defensive fire and miscellaneous dwellings besides.

Felicity also heard something else. She heard the howls and cries of many voices, both human and distinctly inhuman, as they yelled out in anger, alarm, and the lust for blood. She also heard the shallow breathing and felt the heartbeat of the man she carried.

Following Patricia's lead, the terrified party made a left turn down a deserted avenue, sticking close to the buildings on the sides as they worked their way towards the Hilltop. Felicity hoped the militia fighters understood the tactics as well as the Sisters and the Ecclesiarchy's fighters. They had to leave St. Erica's Way for the narrower streets to avoid being mowed down from behind by the Sentinel, not to mention the rest of their pursuers. At the same time, they could not sneak through alleys. If they encountered any other attackers, being trapped in a narrow, enclosed space would seal their doom.

Evidently they still had questions. "We're abandoning everyone else up..." began a large bearded man with a pistol in one hand as his other arm supported a much younger man draped over his shoulder.

"Quiet!" growled Sister Shiori. "The enemy's goals lie within the Cathedral. They won't waste time out here on a massacre. That will come later, if we fail." She said all this while sweeping the perimeter with her bolt pistol, as the party crossed a narrow alley.

"But what-" began the militiaman in reply, as he and Shiori all seemed to notice simultaneously a commotion to their right. The end of the alley was adjacent to one of the smaller gates into the Old City, and it had evidently been breached by a mob of Beastmen, driving ahead of them a pack of Chaos Hounds. One Hound lifted its snout, spotted fresh prey crossing the alley, and charged, howling. Felicity's blood ran cold as the other Hounds formed an evil chorus, joined by the deeper braying of the Beastmen, and began bounding in her direction. She could only imagine the horror afflicting the civilians.

Instinct and triage took over. At a barked command from one of the Crusaders, the four Arco-Flagellants charged the enemy, screaming with fury to match that of their onrushing antagonists. The Crusaders gently set down their wounded and followed suit. Two unencumbered civilians, a shotgun-wielding, petite woman and a slender adolescent boy with a stub pistol, moved into the alley and took cover behind a trash receptacle, prepared to fire at anything that broke through.

"Cover our flanks! Carlotta, with me!" barked Patricia, as she pointed her bolt pistol down the alley, after propping her human cargo against the nearest building, around the corner where she took cover. Carlotta followed suit, kneeling below Patricia. The rest of the group fanned out slightly, watching for trouble from any other direction. Felicity could see that the civilian militia were clearly fatigued and frightened. They were only about two blocks from the apparent safety of the Hilltop, and yet they were now delayed in a vulnerable predicament. It all showed on their sweating faces and in their darting eyes.

The Arco-Flagellants slammed into the onrushing Hounds. The howling was replaced by yelps and the crackling of electricity as the Arco-Flagellants atoned for their sins the only way they could. One such man, once a simple taxi driver whose loose talk attracted the Inquisition's attention, shrugged off the blast from a Beastman's shotgun, disemboweled a Chaos Hound, and immediately leapt upon said Beastman. The pair of Crusaders were right behind, and a Hound gouging its teeth and claws into the back of one Arco-Flagellant was swiftly cut in two by a slash from a Crusader's Power Sword.

Felicity couldn't help but glance at the melee and quickly see what Carlotta and Patricia could surely see: the Arco-Flagellants, Crusaders, and pair of militia were outnumbered, and the Chaos Hounds and Beastmen could nearly equal them in ferocity. The Sisters and militia could not wait for their chance to gun down the Hounds and Beastmen without risking being caught by the main body of Chaos forces, who were advancing relentlessly and audibly. A Crusader cut down one Beastman, only to be viciously clubbed from behind by two more of the abhumans. The militiaman opened up with his pistol, and a Beastman fired his shotgun in response, spattering the pellets all over the trash container in a shower of sparks. The militiawoman shrieked, possibly wounded, as she and the militiaman fell back behind cover. An Arco-Flagellant, prostrate on the pavement, continued to swing her limbs to the best of her ability as a pair of Hounds tore at her flesh and a Beastman moved in for the kill.

"We can't stay here," said Patricia. "Sisters, set down your wounded! You lot, take them up and withdraw! To the Hilltop, as fast as you can!" Felicity kneeled down and did as she was told, noticing that Carlotta's former human cargo was almost surely dead. "Sisters, on me! Charge!" yelled Patricia, and Shiori, Carlotta, and Felicity followed her, surging around the corner and towards the melee with both hands on their bolt pistols, whispering litanies of righteous vengeance.

Felicity heard and saw Patricia shoot at a Chaos Hound that had just turned its attention toward the Sisters. The shell landed adjacent to the beast, and it yelped and rolled sideways, injured by flying fragments. Growling, the Hound got back on its feet, only to receive a lethal kick from Patricia's armored boot. Shiori placed her pistol against the back of a Beastman's skull and fired, splattering all around with bone and gore. Carlotta led with her shoulder as she entered the fray, knocking a Beastman over several downed bodies before he fell heavily to the ground. Felicity veered to the right, where two Beastmen were rounding the trash container, about to kill the two militia fighters behind it. She fired two shots at the rear Beastman. The first shell scored a glancing blow, while the second went wide and exploded against the side of the container. Felicity closed the distance with her next two strides and pistol-whipped the wounded Beastman with a two-handed chop. He bounced off the container and fell to the ground.

The front Beastman was startled and hesitated, giving the two militia fighters time to recover and react. The militiawoman fired her shotgun into his chest, and the militiaman emptied his stub pistol into the attacker, who promptly crumpled to the ground. Behind him, Felicity was on her knees, driving her armored right fist into her adversary's goat-like skull again and again, stopping once she broke through. Panting, she turned around, rose to a combat stance, and saw the changed situation.

A Beastman clubbed Patricia, but her armor took the brunt of the blow, and she was able to bring her pistol to bear, mangling the legs of her adversary with a blast. Carlotta was on the ground wrestling with the last Hound, and she broke its neck while a Beastman broke contact with Shiori and fled. Two other Beastmen scrambled to their hooves and followed. Shiori quickly glanced around for more threats before trying to take aim at the fleeing enemy; Patricia's pistol was empty; Carlotta was having trouble rising; and by the time Felicity emerged from cover the surviving Beastmen had turned a corner.

Felicity and the two militia fighters walked into the carnage in the center of the street. All of the Arco-Flagellants and one of the Crusaders were dead or dying, and Shiori helped the other, battered Crusader rise to his feet. Patricia knelt beside Carlotta, and Felicity went to join them.

"She's bleeding, see?" asked Patricia, and Felicity saw that it was true. Blood was seeping from one or two of the joint areas in Carlotta's armor, though it was admittedly difficult to tell which blood was hers. "Carlotta, can you walk with support?" continued Patricia.

"I think so, Sister Superior," answered Carlotta, clearly in pain.

"All right, I'll take her and go first. Felicity, follow with her-" Patricia gestured at the militiawoman, who was trying to put pressure on her own wounds inflicted by shotgun pellets. Meanwhile, the militiaman had picked up one of the shotguns dropped by a fallen Beastman. "Shiori, you, Mr. Shotgun here, and the Crusader cover the rear. Let's go!" she barked, lifting Carlotta and draping the wounded Sister's left arm over her shoulders. Felicity admired Patricia's professional calm, but she could still detect the frantic worry in her voice.

With that, the group continued up the hill, through a dark street that normally was the scene of a lively food market. Felicity could make out the Gate of Devotion- a doorway, really, and one of the entrances to the Hilltop. She could hear the sounds of tumult and commotion from nearby, punctuated by shots and explosions. She guessed that the Sentinel was still on St. Erica's Way, but she couldn't hear any firing from its autocannon- Probably conserving ammo, she thought -, nor any distinct noises from it at all. More than anything else, she could hear her comrades' footfalls, and her own breathing.

Seconds later, Felicity heard a new set of sounds, as she glanced back and saw a squad or more of Cultists come around a street corner and fan out.

"Go!" yelled Shiori, opening up with her bolt pistol simultaneously with the first few Cultists' firing their autoguns. The militiaman fired his shotgun partially out of nervousness and, like Shiori, partially out of a desire to simply cause the Cultists to flinch, as at this distance the pellets would be ineffectual. The same was true of the Cultists' shots. They were firing from the hip as they ran towards their prey, but within a few seconds they would close the distance and fire with lethal results.

"Run! You're almost there!" said Felicity to the wounded, tearful woman by her side, and quickly turned to join Shiori, the militiaman, and the Crusader, who were walking backwards while searching for targets to come within range. As Felicity did the same, a wonderful surprise rained down from above, as six promethium bombs arced down from a balcony, shattered among the Cultists and set two of them ablaze, while burning several others. The burning servants of Chaos hit the ground as some of their comrades tried to smother the flames and others sought cover. A shower of bricks and other objects further battered the Cultists as Felicity and her comrades turned and ran for the Gate of Devotion, guarded by a pair of lasgun-wielding men whom Felicity recognized as kitchen staff.

"You two can't stay here," said Patricia in passing, as she and Carlotta moved with all deliberate speed towards the Cathedral. "They're right behind us."

"And we're right behind you, Sister," said one of the cooks. There were far too few defenders to guard the Hilltop's perimeter wall, but the space between the wall and the Cathedral was mostly, if not entirely, devoid of hard cover. All the trees, coupled with the dark of night, would certainly conceal attackers, but the Cathedral rose high enough above its surroundings to offer a commanding view. Along with that, the Chaos forces would be funneled through several narrow gates.

It wouldn't be enough. At least that's what Felicity thought. She wasn't sure of the exact number of Cathedral staff, nor how many of those were actually capable of putting up a fight. Any Preachers and Militia who had also managed to withdraw could be counted on, but even so, they were outnumbered and seriously outgunned, even if the Sentinel couldn't fit through any of the gates. There was no telling just how many Chaos troops were out there, but, judging from the Beastmen she had encountered, more enemy were entering through some of the other gates to the Old City. Militia and other civilian resistance would slow them down, but not by much. The Old City was small, and the heretics didn't have far to go.

As Felicity and her comrades approached the steps to the Cathedral, the crack of a lasgun firing erupted from somewhere far overhead. Some of the group flinched, but as a second and then a third shot rang out, it was clear that someone up in the spire was shooting past the perimeter wall and into the streets.

"Madam Wadey, who is that in the spire?" asked Patricia, speaking over the vox.

"That would be the Pontifex, Sister," came the reply.

"I should have known," muttered Patricia, off-mic.

Once inside the Cathedral doors, a few more staff came forward to assist the two cooks in taking the wounded from the Sisters and militia, and then guide all those in need down to the infirmary. Felicity thought ruefully that there wasn't nearly enough space in the infirmary, let alone sufficient equipment, to deal with the casualties headed that way already.

"Somebody get us more bolter magazines, and something for the others if you can! We Sisters will be here on the ground floor!" Patricia yelled after the departing group.

"Yes, Sister Superior!" came a reply. Patricia turned to Shiori and Felicity, as well as the remaining militia members. She didn't pause as the Cathedral's inner lights shut off, the better to see out into the darkness as night fell fast.

"Sisters, the relics are our responsibility, so we have to remain on this floor, ready to retrieve them and get out of sight of the enemy should we be overrun. Felicity, I want you in the sacristy. Shiori, find a position nearby. The rest of you, find firing positions and trust in the Emperor. Now go; they'll be here any minute!"

The group of defenders scattered. Felicity entered the sacristy and climbed on top of a table, giving her a view from the window. She saw the reliquary case in one corner, seemingly just another object in a room filled with clerical paraphernalia. The room's door led to the altar, which faced the nave. The nave was a wide-open space, but its stained-glass windows were too high off the ground for the enemy to climb through and swarm the window, she recited a litany for the Emperor's protection, and began to sweep her vision back and forth across the plaza.

If less focused on imminent threats, Felicity might have reflected on the considerable honor Patricia had just granted her, but, as always, duty was foremost in her mind.

Partway along St. Erica's Way, a heavy-weapons team found a position with good cover and a clear view of the Cathedral's uppermost spire. They had noticed the periodic las shots coming from it, and decided to do something about it. The operator shouldered the launcher, calmly took aim, and fired. The krak missile surged towards its target, and scored a direct hit.

After the whoosh of the missile and the roar and rumble of its impact, Felicity heard nothing over the vox as chunks of masonry of various sizes landed on (and sometimes went through) the roof. It seemed pretty obvious as to what had just happened.

The transport aircraft bucked and bounced in the turbulent air, and Eddzo snapped back to consciousness. He had just begun to dream about being adrift in some ocean, but as he blinked and glanced around he remembered that rather than the ocean, he was some distance up in the air, and rather than drifting, he was headed somewhere with a purpose. In front and behind him sat rows of men, dressed as he was in dull blue jumpsuits with rectangular number plates, and simple black boots. Each man had been fitted with an explosive slave-collar. Locked compartments, built into seat-backs (and bulkheads for those in the front row) faced each passenger. There were 100 passengers in all, heads freshly shaved, and though they varied in ages and backgrounds, they were all convicts, and they were all expected to kill and die, with either outcome acceptable.

They had been trained for a day like this off-and-on over the past year. Some of Eddzo's fellow prisoners had already had military experience, and in any case many had gained combat experience in their lives of crime prior to incarceration. Their trainers, visiting Imperial Guard officers, had especially wanted to make sure that the more newly-imprisoned were sufficiently cowed and servile, and that the more long-term inmates had not excessively deteriorated physically or mentally. As for the trainees, they had uniformly put their utmost effort into achieving selection for the Penal Legion. It wasn't a privilege exactly, more like an opportunity. Winning a pardon or a reduced sentence was a tiny possibility, but anyone selected for the Legion would get a chance to leave the prison for a time, see someplace new, battle foes more degenerate than they, and possibly die a quick, adrenaline-filled death.

Eventually, the night came when, quite without warning, Eddzo and dozens of his fellow inmates were herded from their cells to a pair of aircraft, which were streaking to the south at a great speed.

"Can you see anything yet?" Eddzo asked of Darren, the man seated to his left, flush with the portside bulkhead and the nearest window.

"Not yet," grunted Darren. "Just the dark... Now I can, yeah. Looks like a city."

Those were the first words Darren had spoken since he and Eddzo were sat side-by-side as the Arbitrators loaded the prisoners on board the transports in the ship's docking bay. This wasn't surprising. Darren rarely said much of anything in the corridors or the exercise yard, but his perpetually angry glare spoke volumes. Apparently he'd been the same way on his home planet, as a feared and hated street tough.

"What does it look like? Any devastation? Is there fire or something?" Eddzo asked, realizing he was chattering out of nervousness. "Big city? Small city? What about the clima-"

"LISTEN UP!" barked an Arbitrator standing in full black armor near the aircraft's cockpit, with his shotgun at the ready. All chatter among the inmates ceased and every head faced forward. "We're going to land in a few minutes. Here are your orders. I will not repeat them. When we land, your equipment will unlock. Grab it, put it on, and exit via the rear ramp as quickly as possible. Whoever exits first, you will see Arbitrators who will direct you where to go. You will have a few minutes before landing, starting right now, to empty your digestive systems for what may be the last time, so make it count. Follow any instructions given to you by any Imperial personnel. Failure to do so can and will result in death via your collar or any other method available. Any questions?"

"No, Arbitrator!" chorused the inmates. Eddzo desperately wanted to ask what to do in case of conflicting instructions, but thought better of it.

"Here is your mission," continued the Arbitrator, "I will not repeat it either. Traitorous forces, heretics, Chaos, whatever you wish to call them, have conducted an uprising in the city below. Some of their number are attempting to seize a small ancient section called the Old City. Together with other Imperial forces, you will penetrate the Old City and eliminate the enemy forces, before they can do whatever it is they have in mind. I'll have you know that our comrades at the Precinct Fortress are under attack, but our orders are to shepherd you maggots. We are not in a good mood. Are there any questions?"

"No, Arbitrator!" came the replies.

A pensive exhale and an exotic profanity emanated from the row in front of Eddzo. It came from a smooth-talking hustler known to the inmates as "Slick."

"What's it look like to you?" asked Eddzo.

"Like I always thought, and always said: They're throwing us into the machinery, but they're not just throwing us away," replied Slick. This provoked the interest of the man sitting to Slick's left.

"Why are you so sure? Why would they not throw us away? That's what they want!"

"Because the screws, 'scuse me, the Arbitrators, are beside and behind us, in case you haven't noticed," Slick answered.

"You think the Imperium cares about throwing them away either?" asked Slick's skeptical seatmate.

"No, but the bosses on Terra aren't the ones giving the orders here," said Slick, sounding even more smug than usual. "The last thing whoever is in charge here wants is all his troops starting to mistrust each other, or worse. Then they start shootin' at each other, some turn to Chaos, and it's lights out all around. No, they're giving us the Dirty, Degrading, and Dangerous, but not the Dump, if you know what I'm saying."

That was convincing enough. No one replied.

Eddzo suddenly realized the transport was settling down to a vertical landing. Seconds later, he heard the crunch of landing skids hitting the ground, and felt the craft come to a stop.

"For the Emperor, who preserves and protects!" shouted the Arbitrator at the front. "Even you scum."

"For the Emperor!" yelled the Penal Troopers. Eddzo could hear the ramp at the transport's stern start to lower, and in the seat-back in front of him, the compartment containing his equipment unlocked with a ka-chunk. Eddzo slid the panel up to reveal a lascarbine with its stock folded, a flak jacket, a simple billed cap, and a belt with a dangling knife and canteen, among other bits of survival gear.

"No helmets," observed Eddzo, matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, but check this out," exclaimed Darren, holding up a small tube marked "Hearing Protection." "That's thoughtful of them!"

Before Eddzo could respond, the Arbitrator standing behind the cockpit began barking vicious threats to any stragglers. Eddzo and his fellows needed no more encouragement to grab their gear and head for the exit ramp. It simply wouldn't do to die without ever leaving the transport.

At least the weather's good, thought Eddzo as he trudged out onto some sort of grassy field. Although keeping track of the prisoner ahead of him, he couldn't resist glancing around at his first view outside of prison in three years. It was dark, and apparently the transports had landed at opposite ends of the floodlit athletic fields outside of a scholarium. There was a small swarm of activity going on, as besides the Arbitrators herding the Penal Troopers into lines against one of the scholarium's walls, there were quite a few other people around, most of them visibly armed. A couple of men wearing Planetary Defense Force uniforms and wielding lasguns peeked over the edge of the roof at the approaching Penal Troopers, and then resumed gazing out through binoculars at the surrounding neighborhood. A group of six local deputies scurried past, all with holstered autopistols and two carrying shotguns.

"It's funny," growled Darren behind him, "kids in school think they're in prison, and now..."

Eddzo reached his place in line and, like his comrades ahead had done, stopped and turned around to face back towards the athletic fields. He had started to smirk at Darren's observation, but quickly wiped the expression off his face as he spotted an Arbitrator apparently looking at him. Eddzo could tell the man was glaring at him from behind the visor. The transports' engines shut off, and the unmistakable sound of a distant battle reached the Penal Troopers. Chattering gunfire emanated from multiple places in the city, along with the sounds of roaring engines. Bright fires lit up the darkness, and several columns of smoke rose into the sky, soon joined by another as an explosion sounded somewhere in the distance. Some of the Penal Troopers flinched at the sound, but they quickly returned to attention.

"All right, move it! Turn left and follow the men in front of you! No talking!" barked an Arbitrator who was standing in front of the ranks of Penal Troopers. Eddzo swiftly complied. It seemed that the group from the other transport was taking the lead, probably guided by some Arbitrators, with probably a squad between the two groups of Penal Troopers, and another squad behind, to prevent anyone from escaping. That meant that, as much as Eddzo hated to admit it, he was grateful to have the hated Arbitrators around with shotguns, boltguns, and maybe a couple of grenade launchers. For once, he might see those weapons used against somebody other than himself and his peers.

Rounding the corner of the scholarium, the Penal Troopers and their escorts set off down a street, which seemed to be slightly inclined. Eddzo realized that they must be heading for the jumble of buildings located on a hill about three blocks away, crowned by the spire of a building that looked like it belonged to the Ecclesiarchy. That has to be the Old City, he thought. As they drew closer, Eddzo could hear more than the sounds of boots hitting the pavement and equipment rattling against jumpsuits. Shots from lasguns, stubbers, and autoguns were distinctly audible, all coming from the neighborhood ahead. Seconds later, the spire was obliterated in a fairly small explosion that sent a much larger cloud of dust into the air. Chunks of masonry fell away in all directions, and some of the Penal Troopers exclaimed at the spectacle, but knew better than to say anything more about it.

"Safeties off!" barked Arbitrators up and down the line. Eddzo flicked the safety of his lasgun to the "off" position, and hoped he might get a chance to use it. He felt a lump in his throat as a mixture of fear and excitement swamped any other emotions he had. It was not an uncommon feeling in prison, whenever violence seemed imminent or actually occurred. This time, the context was different, but the feeling was the same. They were getting closer to the Old City, and Eddzo could clearly make out the ancient walls, with a mostly-destroyed gatehouse rising above the section straight ahead. Action seemed imminent.

Eddzo saw the first company of Penal Troopers change direction and veer to the left at commands from their Arbitrators, evidently being vectored to another entrance besides the large gateway, now blasted open, that Eddzo could see over the heads of the rows of men in front of him. The Arbitrators at the front took positions on either side of the gateway, and began waving the Penal Troopers through.

"Spread out inside and head straight up the hill! Fire on the enemy if encountered, but do not change your trajectory unless we tell you otherwise! For the Emperor!" yelled one of the Arbitrators by the door, and his words were repeated by another one at the rear. As Eddzo was about to pass through the gateway, the Arbitrators ahead left their positions and fell in alongside the Penal Troopers.

"For the Emperor!" yelled the Penal Troopers, and seconds later they were all through St. Erica's Gate, fanning out along St. Erica's Way, and sweeping the street and surrounding buildings with their lasguns. Eddzo realized he was jogging past any number of corpses, and his nostrils absorbed the smell of burnt flesh, mixed with cordite, blood, and something else unpleasant he couldn't identify. Breaking concentration was unthinkable, of course. It might mean death, or at least something close to it, before he ever got a chance to assault someone.

It didn't take long before the Penal Troopers started to do their jobs. Eddzo saw it ahead of him, as some of the penal troopers dropped to their knees while others remained standing, and they all fired blasts down the streets to their right. Yelling erupted, as troopers told their startled fellows what exactly was happening to the right. Eddzo caught up to the action in a few seconds and raised his rifle, but the engagement was over. Three or four Chaos troopers lay dead on the pavement outside the building they had just left, and the rest had scampered down the nearest alley.

"Stand up! Keep moving! Do not stop!" yelled an Arbitrator, as he and another of his cohort used their shotguns to prod the convicts along. Eddzo soon found himself stepping over numerous mangled corpses as the Penal Troopers approached the smoldering ruins of a barricade. Some of the dead were clearly human Chaos soldiers and cultists, but many were harder to identify. Eddzo realized as he tried not to slip on various bodily fluids that he and his comrades were shuffling through the remains of mutants, humans who had either rebelled against the society that treated them with scorn and suspicion, or whose mutations had directly tipped their brains in antisocial directions, or those who were dangerous to begin with, or some combination of the above.

Eddzo slipped briefly, but quickly regained his footing. All around him, men were stumbling, slipping or tripping, and at least a couple vomited, only to receive a shotgun or bolter muzzle jabbed into their backs and a barked order to keep moving. The barricade had clearly been shot to pieces and burnt, and Eddzo followed his fellows in passing through it. The corpses he now encountered were quite different, and he realized that many of the defenders must have withdrawn, since the dead were far too few and too lightly armed to have killed so many of their attackers. That was a good sign, he thought.

Still, it was hardly reassuring, not when he could hear the sounds of battle echoing throughout the Old City, but could see nothing showing him where the threats were. As the Penal Troopers picked up the pace after passing through the barricade, they continued their surge up Saint Erica's Way, and soon heard something other than distant shots and their own boots against the pavement. From windows and rooftops, people were cheering for them. Eddzo could make out various forms of thanks, combined with exhortations to deliver the Emperor's justice to the traitors ahead. This was a new experience for most of the Penal Troopers, and for the remainder it was something they had not heard for years. Some echoed the cheers, while others laughed incredulously.

The laughter quickly changed as abruptly as it began, as the Penal Troopers began to shout warnings.

"Heads up y'all!"

"Straight ahead!"

Eddzo had just discerned some movement at the far end of the street, almost up against the Hilltop's wall, when a frag missile exploded just ahead and to the left. The spray of fragments instantly tore two men to shreds and knocked five others to the ground bleeding and screaming. Eddzo and some of his fellows flinched involuntarily with sudden shock, only to instantly hear the bellows of the Arbitrators.

"DO NOT STOP! Fire from the hip and close the distance! Kill the enemy, in the Emperor's name!"

The Penal Troopers followed their instructions, sending volleys of mostly wild las fire ahead as a smaller number of better-aimed shots rained upon them. Eddzo could see the adversaries; they were a couple of squads of soldiers sheltering behind the sides of a short brick stairwell leading into a doorway, as well as behind a nearby low wall and other brick or stone obstacles. He couldn't see the missile launcher, but there was no chance to look for any particular target. He had to keep pumping the trigger as he ran forward, as hopefully each shot could at least force one adversary to keep their head down for another second. He tried his best to simultaneously ignore the falling men ahead, beside, and behind him, as las shots killed and wounded his fellow convicts. Ahead of him, an Arbitrator raised his bolter and fired a burst toward the enemy position, all without breaking his stride, even as a las beam slammed into his chest-piece. The black carapace armor provided no guarantee of protection, but it was vastly preferable to the flak jacket Eddzo was wearing.

Almost all at once, Eddzo heard the loud rush of air as another frag missile passed by, he smelled the smoke added to the ozone from hundreds of las shots, and heard the painful explosion as it burst somewhere behind him. Eddzo felt something hard strike his back at high speed, but whatever it was, it wasn't enough to stop him. The results of the missile sounded like they were the same as the last time, but this time nobody flinched who wasn't directly harmed. Not only were they used to it by now, but they were clearly getting close to their adversaries. Another burst of bolter shells shattered one traitor's cover and dropped him instantly. One lucky Penal Trooper scored a head shot on another heretic Guarsdman, while another managed to destroy the missile launcher, though its operators quickly drew their sidearms. The Penal Troopers and their accompanying Arbitrators continued to surge forward, and their foremost elements were only separated from the heretics by the width of a street- a path, really- when in a split-second an autocannon shell plowed through one Arbitrator and took down a further eight Penal Troopers, some of them blasted to bits. Eddzo and the men around him flinched, halted, and ran for cover as the debauched form of a Chaos Sentinel stepped into view.

Felicity could see three gates within her field of vision: the Gate of Loyalty, the Gate of Holy Terra, and the Gate of the Golden Throne, and she knew that two others were located to each side of the visible gates. Each gate was a fairly narrow entry that passed through the Hilltop's wall, opening up into the gardens and miniature forest that ringed the plaza between the Cathedral and the walls. This side of the Cathedral faced the most gates, so, besides the reliquary, it only made sense for Felicity to take position where her bolter fire could take down the most targets. Shiori, in a position at the other end of the nave, had the same idea.

Madam Wadey's voice came shouting over the vox.

"HERE THEY COME!" she yelled, as a stream of traitors came charging through the gates, blazing away at the Cathedral's windows as they did so. Their training was evident as they fanned out and took positions behind trees, fountains, and benches, crouching or turning sideways to present small targets. Felicity and Shiori opened up with their bolters, firing single shots to conserve ammunition. The Cathedral's other defenders were also firing from the windows above. Bolter shells burst against the heretics' cover, sometimes killing or incapacitating the fighters behind, and when possible Felicity and Shiori shot at traitors running between cover, or as they passed through the gate and were temporarily in the open. Shots from lasguns and stub weapons lanced down from above, setting some of the greenery ablaze, hitting some traitors and discouraging others.

It was quickly obvious to Felicity that despite the high ground and extensive cover, defending the Cathedral would be impossible soon without some sort of aid. Shots were slamming into the masonry surrounding Felicity's window, and a few had already come inside, flying over her head, hitting the walls and showering the space with dust and bits of stone. The attackers were creeping closer and closer, and it seemed to Felicity that they now occupied every bit of cover closest to the empty ground between the Cathedral and where they now waited, a distance of about forty meters. Other squads backed them up, firing over their heads. To Felicity's left, panes and panels of the stained glass windows shattered inward as bullets and las bolts hit them. She couldn't see nor hear the Ogryns, but if they were still alive, they made the situation that much more frightening. Any minute now, they'll charge, thought Felicity. What then?

Felicity ducked down, loaded her bolter's last magazine in about two seconds, and stood up again. As she took aim and began to fire again, determined to stall the enemy for as long as possible, she heard Madam Wadey's voice over the vox, over the roar of her bolter and the battle more generally.

"Anyone who can hear me, help may be here!" The crack of a lasgun sounded loudly as Madam Wadey evidently shot at a target of opportunity. "I can't say for sure, but there's something happening just outside the Hilltop!"

"Emperor be praised! Hold the line!" yelled Patricia. Felicity felt a rush of adrenaline as her spirits were bolstered, but her blood ran cold as she heard the deep bellows of an Ogryn, simultaneously coming through Patricia's open vox channel and directly from somewhere outside and close by.

The Armored Sentinel was bedecked in blasphemous symbols, and though Eddzo and his comrades knew very little about what they really represented, the intrinsic taint of Chaos's true nature was enough to add significantly to their feelings of nausea and panic. The Arbitrators were affected even worse, but their masked helmets shielded the worst of their distress from being seen by their prisoners. Convicts and their jailers alike ran for cover, but one trio was too late, blasted to the pavement by a pair of autocannon shells. Two of the men were killed, while the third quickly began trying to drag himself to cover, howling all the way. Lasgun shots bounced off the Sentinel's legs just as surely as they did no damage to its pod. More skillful and/or lucky marksmen saw their shots have only superficial effect on the walker's autocannon and exhaust apparatus. An Arbitrator fired a burst from her bolter, and while the shells did some damage to the Sentinel's pod, she was quickly rewarded with an autocannon shell fired in her direction, knocking her through a doorway, wounding her and shattering her weapon.

Eddzo and Slick crouched around the nearest corner, raising their rifles and trying to train them at the machine's vision slits. Their shots went wide, not least because the machine only briefly stood still. Meanwhile, the Chaos forces' rear guard, up the street against the Hilltop's walls, had regrouped and were providing covering fire for their Sentinel. The machine slowly began backing up, slowly pivoting from left to right as its pilot watched for anyone out of cover. Slick had just begun to speak when a frag missile hurtled down the other side of the street and slammed close to a doorway where several Penal Troopers had taken cover. Eddzo and Slick both swore simultaneously. The smoke and dust obscured their view of the results, and they had to keep their eyes on the enemy, but they could hear the screams.

"I know exactly what they're doin'", said Slick. "They know we want to get up top, and they just need to stall us, I guess until their buddies up there finish whatever it is they came for, and then they'll come back for us!"

"Yeah." Eddzo fired at the depraved soldiers at the top of the hill.

"And I know what's comin' next!" said Slick, his words partially obscured by the las fire that peppered their cover. Eddzo ducked next to his comrade and saw that Slick was fingering the krak grenade dangling from his flak jacket.

Of course, thought Eddzo. We have to-

"Take that hill for the Emperor!" came the bellowing, amplified voice of one of the Arbitrators. "Charge, or die!"

A fierce metallic rattle erupted from out of the darkness, and a bullet bounced off of Felicity's helmet as she ducked down. Bullets pounded into the stone wall behind her, but above the sound of impacts she could hear the massed yelling from outside as the charge began. Felicity rolled off of the table and squatted beside a cabinet. Shiori flew through the door and, without a word from either Sister, helped Felicity lift the device and place it on the cabinet, mostly obscuring the window.

"For grenades, right?" asked Shiori.

"Exactly," answered Felicity, as Shiori leaped into position in the sacristy's doorway. To the left, she could see the small exit door, now shut and locked, that she had been using as a firing position. Straight ahead, past the altar, she could see two narrow doors in the opposite wall. The door on the right led to the lobby, with the staircase inside and an entryway chapel beyond that, both rooms with exterior doors. In the lobby, the exterior doors had been shut and locked, and Sister Superior Patricia was hurriedly arranging the defenders behind portions of the staircase, a small connecting doorway to the offices, and a barricade of various furniture. One man was crouching in the doorway facing into the chapel, as that room had little to no cover, and any other defenders were evidently at the other end of the room, out of view. The door on the left led to the ground floor's offices and infirmary, with the chapel beyond.

Looking to their right, Felicity and Shiori could see the nave with its rows of pews, stained glass windows on either side, and ending in the narthex. The men who had been firing from the narthex had shut and locked the exterior doors and similarly shut the interior doors leading to the nave as they retreated. There were three of them moving at a crouch, dragging and carrying a wounded comrade. Shiori and Felicity realized that they were Choir-Master Graffin, his two assistants, one of whom was wounded, and a militiaman from outside. She noticed that they carried two extra lasguns, one from the wounded man and one from another who had evidently been killed in the narthex.

Enemy fire was pouring through the stained glass windows, passing well over the heads of the defenders, but sending showers of glass and metal down into the room. Shots were hitting the cabinet behind Felicity and Shiori, and more fire was peppering the exterior doors. Choir-Master Graffin and his unhurt assistant carried their comrade through the door leading to the offices and infirmary, for whatever good that would do, while the other fighter tried to find cover behind a support pillar. From the narthex, the sound of impacting gunfire had been replaced with heavy pounding, grunts and bellows, and the sound of tearing metal. Further commotion sounded from the direction of the lobby and chapel. Felicity mag-locked her near-empty bolter to her armor, knelt down, and hefted the long rectangular reliquary.

"Now! Go!" shouted Shiori abruptly, gesturing at the militiaman across the altar and pointing to the left-hand door. "NOW!"

Felicity sprinted across the altar, trying to hold the case close to her body, so as not to get wedged in the doorway ahead of her. She was headed towards the right-hand door, with Shiori at her heels. The militiaman spun on his heels and vanished through the left-hand door.

Felicity had not quite reached the doorway when she heard the doors to the narthex shatter, and an Ogryn Brute charged howling through the nave, with the boots of a bevy of traitors a few steps behind.

Scampering into the lobby, Felicity and Shiori only had time to shout "BEHIND US!" once before they were drowned out by the Ogryn Brute's bellows. Felicity continued running, making a left turn and ascending the stairs while muttering a litany of protection and guidance. She did not question her duty, while at the same time she desperately wished that she could aid her comrades on the ground floor.

Where am I going? she wondered. No matter where I go with these, there's no escape. Feeling a tremulous, body-shaking fear that was new to her, the plan Felicity was carrying out was predicated on one idea: They won't look up here.

Nobody wanted to go first, but when the collars on a pair of hesitating convicts promptly exploded inward, the remainder surged forward, yelling and shooting. The Sentinel operator put his walker into reverse and tried to keep ground between him and the charging Penal Troopers. The machine's reverse speed on an inclined road was nothing close to its forward run, but it was still enough to preserve some distance. The operator fired the autocannon, and its shells ripped through a few of the Penal Troopers towards the rear of the charging mass, but most of the convicts were "under the gun", with the operator unable to depress the weapon far enough, and/or acquire close, scampering targets while on the move.

Eddzo, like any Penal Trooper with his wits about him, tried to move in a gradual zig-zag. Abrupt jinks would risk taking a lasgun blast in the back from one of his comrades. Each time space opened in front of him, he snapped off a shot at the enemies ahead. The Penal Troopers still considerably outnumbered the rear-guard they faced, and they were rapidly closing the distance. A storm of lasgun blasts were impacting the heretics' brick and stone cover, forcing them to flinch and duck, while clouds of choking and blinding dust showered onto them. Other shots peppered the Sentinel's vision slits.

Of course, the heretics were far from helpless. A heavy stubber opened up in a series of three-second bursts, the gunner raking the barrel from side to side. Darren caught at least one round and fell down to the pavement howling guttural curses in pain and frustration. Men leapt over him and continued running. A lasgun shot damaged the heavy stubber's barrel, quickly rendering it unusable. The traitors' missile launcher fired a frag missile down the street, and the blast took down several Penal Troopers, and Eddzo and Slick promptly tripped over a fallen body and tumbled down into the bloody heap. Two men were dead for sure, but a few others were struggling to stand up.

"GET UP! GET UP AND MOVE!" barked an Arbitrator, grabbing Eddzo by the chest and hauling him up. Slick helped a wounded, bleeding man to rise, and then both of them were prodded in the back by the Arbitrator's shotgun, and they needed no further instructions. The wounded man, saved by a combination of adrenaline, a flack jacket, and luck, limped and staggered up the street, while Eddzo and Slick continued their charge, albeit with slightly less energy.

The missile launcher never fired another shot. The Penal Troopers overran the heretics' defenses, quickly finishing the job with bayonets and rifle butts, while others approached the Sentinel's legs and hurled krak grenades. The Sentinel operator put his walker back into forward motion and attempted to charge through the Penal Troopers, crushing one man, but it was too late. An excess of tightly- concentrated explosions tore into the walker's legs, and sent it crashing to the ground as Penal Troopers rolled and jumped out of the way.

"Look!" yelled one of the troopers, pointing to the left, along the Hilltop's wall. Right near the spot where the curving street that followed the Hilltop's wall turned out of view, Eddzo and his fellows saw a scene of carnage. Clearly a vicious close-quarters battle had erupted between the other company of Penal Troopers and other elements of the traitors' rear guard. Dozens of bodies littered the street and its edges, and it looked like others were on the closest connecting pathway as well. Most were Penal Troopers, but evidently a pack of Beastmen and their Hounds had been killed here as well, along with a handful of Cultists and Renegades, and a huge, hulking Ogryn Brute.

Before any of the Penal Troopers in Eddzo's group could even think about checking if their fallen comrades had anyone among them who could be helped to arise and join them, they once again heard the Arbitrators.

"DAMN YOU; DO NOT STOP! THROUGH THE GATES, NOW!"

They complied.

Shiori turned around as soon as she entered the lobby and jumped flush with the wall, directly next to the threshold she had just crossed. Despite the imminent threat in front of her, she had to deal with the massive threat behind her. She had about two seconds to stick her bolter through the doorway and squeeze off the last burst from her bolter into the chest of the Ogryn Brute. The gigantic beast was thrown backwards and doubled over, gripping its chest but making no sound. Its usual howls were choked in its chest as the impact of the bolter shells knocked out its wind. Shiori tossed aside her empty weapon and drew her bolt pistol just as the first lasgun shots from the Ogryn's companions lit up the doorjamb. Dropping into a crouch, Shiori fired two shots at the charging heretics, missing, but blasting large holes through pews and sending the advancing traitors diving for cover or at least concealment.

Preacher Gibson, muttering litanies, and a militiaman joined her, carefully exposing as little as possible of themselves around the door frame as they added suppressive fire around the nave and altar. Gibson's laspistol was attached to his sleeve by a length of the same strong material that composed his robes; so that he could drop it in a split second to draw his Eviscerator chainsword, collapsed against the right side of his belt. The militiaman had a lasgun in his hands and a stub rifle shouldered.

"We can't let them get too close, or they'll toss a grenade in here!" shouted Shiori.

"What?" Yelled the militiaman, over the roar of battle in front and behind them. Preacher Gibson, standing next to the militiaman, repeated Shiori's advice into his ear. All three of them could see the Ogryn Brute staggering along the nave's wall, and a shot from Gibson's laspistol splashed harmlessly against the filthy beast's broad back. A heretic, evidently a sergeant or something similar, had the Ogryn Brute by the hand, and was guiding him towards the nave's exterior doors while gesturing first at said doors, and then back towards Shiori's defensive position.

He knows it's too narrow. He's sending that damned thing outside to find another way in, if what's behind us doesn't kill us first anyway. These bastards just have to keep us pinned-

A massive blast sounded behind them, and the lobby's exterior doors shattered and fell from their hinges. Shiori, Gibson, and the militiaman all involuntarily glanced behind them, and saw heretics barging inside, screaming blasphemies.

"YOU TWO STAY!" barked Preacher Gibson, near-instantly swinging his Eviscerator in front of him, extending it with an audible ker-chunk, starting the spinning blade, and leaping into the fray.

Shiori and the militiaman turned back around, in the horrifying position of battling one mortal threat while another could take them from behind at any moment. Shiori took a frag grenade from her belt. The heretics couldn't get one into her doorway from their current positions, but she could easily toss one so that it rolled off the altar and into the center aisle. She did just that, and the screaming that followed the blast lessened her panic very, very slightly.

Behind, the rest of the lobby was the scene of a wild melee. Gibson had his back to Shiori's position, and was yelling condemnations in between swinging his Eviscerator at any traitors who turned in his direction. The whirling sawteeth cut through flak armor, blunt instruments, and all the way through bone, immediately slicing two opponents into two bloody chunks each, and severing the arm of another, who fell to the floor screaming and writhing. Sister Superior Patricia had her bolt pistol in one hand and her power sword in another, its blue energy field crackling around its metal blade. She kept moving as she faced multiple attackers, blasting a hole into one's abdomen while slicing through another. The Crusader was in his element, blocking and parrying with his shield and sword, then stabbing and slashing with the latter.

The three of them were whirling engines of destruction, giving the invading heretics far more than they had anticipated. One had ducked behind Preacher Gibson and was about to stab the clergyman when the bandaged militiawoman from the battle with the Beastmen clubbed the Renegade with her shotgun. The defenders firing from the stairs had clear views of the doorway, and managed to hit several of the invaders before they themselves were suppressed by covering fire from immediately outside. The attackers had to stumble over their own fallen as they entered, slowing them down considerably; and moments later, the surviving attackers were jumping over those same bodies as they withdrew and fled down the steps, jumping out of the way of the doorway so as to not get shot in the back..

Patricia gasped at the sight of the suddenly open doorway and hopped out of the way, towards the chapel. All others suddenly in the line of fire were slightly closer to the other side of the lobby, and jumped in that direction as a fusillade from outside flew through. Gibson was slightly too slow, but his Rosarius did its job and protected him, turning autogun bullets into a brief light show.

Patricia quickly took stock of the situation. She was trapped on one side of the lobby with the defender who had been watching the doorway to the chapel, a shy, quiet, retired man who volunteered at the Cathedral and had apparently completed a decade-long term of service in the Astra Militarum in his youth. In the chapel, the kitchen staff plus a militia fighter or two had barricaded themselves at the far end of the room, and had kept up a steady rate of fire through the exterior doorway beginning a second after the doors were breached. It was enough to discourage any attackers from trying to enter, but Patricia feared what would happen if the heretics outside managed to get a heavy weapon into position.

On the other side of the room, Preacher Gibson had rejoined Shiori and the militiaman at the doorway to the altar and nave. Patricia, realizing that there was no way to shout over the din to communicate with Shiori and Gibson, and that those two, plus herself and the Crusader, were the only ones with vox units, motioned to the all those without vox units in the lobby- the volunteer to her side and the three gathered on the other side of the room- to stand fast for the moment. She activated her vox.

"How does it look over there?" she asked Shiori and Gibson.

"M'lady, they're still in the nave, but they've pulled back. We can't get a clear shot at them, and vice versa. The Ogryn went back outside," answered Shiori.

"It's a standoff, M'lady," added Gibson, before Patricia could answer.

"All right," answered Patricia, her steely calm showing signs of strain. She spoke quickly, with no guarantee that she could finish. She knew that nobody could safely look through any of the windows to see what was going on outside. There had been no word from Madam Wadey for some time either. She knew that there almost surely were many heretics out there, plus that Ogryn Brute and, scariest of all, the Chaos Space Marine Lord who was leading this whole assault. Periodic lasgun and autogun shots continued to pass through the doorway, slamming into the staircase and wall. "We can't withdraw up the stairs, and two of us"- she gestured at herself and the volunteer - "can't leave this spot without getting shot." As she spoke, Patricia kept her bolt pistol trained at the doorway. "They're going to try to get in again, and if they toss a grenade in here, I'll jump on it."

"Or I will," Gibson said.

They were trapped.

Eddzo ran through the gateway, wide enough for only about two or three men to pass through at once, and instantly turned left at a diagonal. The Arbitrators had herded about half of the remaining mass of his fellow Penal Troopers off to the left and through another equally narrow gateway. Eddzo had expected to get shot down with his comrades as soon as he passed through the gateway, but he did not notice any incoming fire, and as he moved into a patch of neatly planted trees and tried to take in what was happening, he saw that the enemy were pretty busy. Several squads of heretics were against the Cathedral and next to a couple of its open doors, while more were in the shadows, trading shots with whoever was inside. Off to the left side of the building, he saw the remnants of the other company of Penal Troopers engaged in a wild melee with a larger mob of heretics.

If any of the Arbitrators were barking instructions, Eddzo and anybody near him didn't notice. They instinctively advanced out of the trees, through a small artificial pond, and charged towards their embattled fellow prisoners. Eddzo had picked his target and was closing in for the kill when suddenly, previously obscured from view by the men fighting in front of him, two jets of flame erupted, and Eddzo felt his fight-or-flight response tilt towards the latter as a black-armored giant launched into the air above the fray.

The huge warrior was between seven and eight feet tall, with a horned helmet and spiked jump pack making him appear even larger. He snapped off a shot from the plasma pistol in his right fist, vaporizing most of two Penal Troopers, simultaneously pivoted towards the ground at an angle, and came flying in like a missile at this new group of adversaries. Whether from the Power Axe in his left fist, or from the impact of his vast bulk, he broke most of the charge as he plowed lethally through the Penal Troopers, killing or wounding about a dozen, and knocking others to the pavement. Eddzo was hurled backwards into multiple reverse-somersaults, scraping his face against the ground twice before coming to a halt, flat on his back.

Felicity reached the third floor and ran along to the corridor to the eastern end. She opened the door leading to the attic stairs and passed through, shutting it behind her. The noises of battle diminished, and became quieter still as she ascended into the attic. Her helmet enabled her to find her way through the pitch-black room, filled with old files, repair parts for cogitators, and religious banners and signs, among other things. She turned back towards the east, intoning litanies asking for the Emperor's divine guidance, and approached the wall. Standing the case on its end, she ran her right hand along the ancient gray stones, asking the Emperor again for His help in finding the right spot.

Her faith did not fail her. Her gauntleted fingers felt one hewn stone that was not quite like the others- different consistency, imperceptibly loose. She pressed hard against it, and felt the warm rush of gratitude as the secret door swung open in front of her. A few steps and one water-resistant hatch later, she was on the Cathedral's roof. She knelt down, not wanting to be seen by any heretic who happened to be at the proper angle. She doubted how common night-vision equipment (or equivalent biological ability) was among her adversaries, but she could take no chances, and in any case she could still be silhouetted against the sky.

"Felicity?" Patricia's voice came over the vox, with a fair amount of shooting in the background.

"Mission accomplished, M'lady," responded Felicity.

"Throne be praised."

Outside, the traitors who had been trying to enter the lobby and chapel noticed the new stream of Penal Troopers charging into the Hilltop, and accordingly turned to face this new threat. The earlier group of Penal Troopers was wrapped up in close-quarters-combat, but this new bunch changed the situation, as some of them were heading towards the Renegades who were plainly visible by the doors. Scrambling away from the doors and kneeling behind the low stone wall, the Renegades and Cultists opened fire on the Penal Troopers, who themselves quickly halted among the trees, fountains, and other decorations of the Hilltop. At orders from their officers, heretics with flamers laid down sheets of fire on the steps outside of both the lobby and chapel doors, to discourage anyone inside from taking advantage of this new distraction.

Patricia was wondering what she heard from outside- had the attackers really scurried away? What's all that new shooting?- when a gout of flame landed on the steps outside. Anyone without armor stepped back instinctively, away from the convection. Looking through the doorway into the chapel, she saw that the situation was the same there.

"Shiori?" she asked over the vox.

"Negative, Sister Superior. They're still here."

"What are they doing out there?" asked Patricia. Preacher Gibson's gaze met hers, and he shrugged.

Amid the shadows of the Hilltop's green belt, an Arbitrator with a grenade launcher was attempting to exhort the convicts under his command to charge again, and was perfectly prepared to execute one or more of them to achieve this.

"DO NOT STOP, YOU BAGS OF VOMIT! WE'RE ALMOST-" he began, stopping as he heard a frantic voice in his earpiece telling him to look to the left. He did, and promptly began running in that direction, remaining within the green belt, informing his fellow lawmen that he was on his way.

In the melee towards which the Arbitrator was running, the situation was fluid. The Penal Troopers, bolstered by the arrival of their fellows, had superior numbers for the moment, and the few Arbitrators were very helpful with their armor and fierce hand-to-hand skills, but the heretics were in general better-equipped for close-quarters combat. The Disciples in particular were skilled, well-armed, and fanatical. Of course, all of this was overshadowed as the Chaos Space Marine, now on the ground, repeatedly shattered the bodies of Penal Troopers. He moved far faster than anything his size should have been able to, and struck with such a force that its bone-breaking impacts were audible over the tumult of battle.

"Death to the false Emperor!" he yelled as he grabbed a convict who had been dueling with a heretic. Lifting him into the air, the Marine twirled the man by the head, breaking his neck, and then hurled him into a trio of Penal Troopers who were about to fire their lasguns together at the giant Chaos warrior. A pair of las shots hit the Marine from the other direction, one severing one of his horns and the other hitting him square in the helmet. Before any other shots hit home, the Marine aimed his plasma pistol with lighting speed and obliterated the man who had just shot him. An Arbitrator sent a Disciple to the ground with a swing of his shotgun, only for the Marine to step up and behead him with a swing of a power axe. "Join your corpse-god!", he blasphemed.

Eddzo, dazed but conscious, rolled on to his front, spitting out blood and hard sand. He reached around for his weapon, and, finding it, looked up slightly. Ordinarily I'd love it to see one of the screws lose his head, but this is not ordinary, he thought. Rising to his knees, he lifted his lasgun and was about to fire as many shots as possible into the very big target who had just decapitated the Arbitrator, when his peripheral vision spotted a Cultist about to slash him with some sort of demonic-looking machete. Blocking the blow with his lasgun, Eddzo pushed back at the traitor and unsteadily rose to his feet, not entirely ready for the duel to the death he was already in.

The Arbitrator ran away from the firefight and towards the slugfest, taking a closer glance out of the green belt and immediately sizing up the situation. Before being summoned, he had been about to try and launch a frag grenade across the open space and over the wall shielding the Chaos troops, but this was immeasurably more important. He already knew his task from the moment the call for help had come through the vox, and he knew that missing his first attempt would make a second very unlikely. Flicking the toggle switch on his launcher to select krak grenades, he raised his weapon and took aim. Over an agonizing few seconds, he tracked the movements of the Traitor Marine Lord, until he saw the towering enemy start to move towards another Penal Trooper. In that split-second, the Arbitrator had a clear shot. He pulled the trigger.

The grenade slammed into the Marine's torso, and the concentrated, directed force of the blast punched a small crater through his suit of power armor, driving it into the body glove and body underneath. The impact and blast knocked him off of his feet, and his growl of pain and anger pierced the already-cacophonous night. He fell while in mid-run, and sprawled onto the ground in a noisy crash, kicking up a cloud of dust that was intermittently visible in the light from muzzle flashes and fires. He felt the same sort of pain that he had felt numerous times in his ages of combat, and each time it was a warning. He was in danger, and the next such blow could finish him.

The Arbitrator dropped to one knee, aimed at his now-prone target, and pulled the trigger. As the grenade left the barrel, the nozzles on the Marine's jump pack flared to life, first propelling him laterally along the ground, bowling over several combatants, before he rose up into the air at an angle. The grenade blasted a hole into the ground, and the man who fired it gave thanks to the Emperor that at least his first shot had hit, and then, after the briefest of glances to make sure he was not about to get jumped by a foe on the ground, he watched the airborne Marine, trying to prepare for the retribution to come.

In fact, no such retaliation came. As Chaos Space Marine Lord Vanmass ascended out of range, he rose higher than the Cathedral's roof. Instinctive situational awareness led him to see something in the left side of his peripheral vision. He took one look at the rooftop and abruptly changed his trajectory, landing on the ground on the Cathedral's vacant north side. No shots came from the windows, and neither his armor's sensors nor his own visual scanning detected any particular movement there. There was only one entrance to the Cathedral on this side, a lowered and locked service door. Against the wall, there was a sealed gate, as thick as the wall itself, that once led out of both the Hilltop and the Old City, since the Hilltop perched at the Old City's northern edge. He opened his vox channel, and walked towards the sealed gate.

"All units, this is Lord Vanmass," he began, loudly enough that hopefully most of his troops would hear him over the din, but not so loud as to become distorted. "I see the objective and will seize it myself. Withdraw through the sealed north exit. If a man with a meltagun falls, someone else pick up the meltagun! Death to the false emperor! Death to the weakling Imperium!" With that, he fired blast after blast from his plasma pistol into the sealed gate. The sand from ancient bricks poured out in gaseous form as the plasma shots pared them down. As his weapon became dangerously hot, Vanmass holstered it, took out all of his krak grenades, and placed them in a bundle in the crevice he had made. The explosion drilled even deeper into the wall, just as the first of his soldiers ran to join him, prepared to finish the job.

Felicity glanced out at what she could see of the city. Her field of view was somewhat obscured, as she stood in the middle of the roof, surrounded on all sides by a thin wall of arched windows without panes, separated from the edge by a ledge. On top of the wall, now damaged in places by chunks of the collapsed spire and/or Chaos ordnance, sat statues of not only Saint Erica but several other iconic heroes of the Imperium. Still, despite the obstacles, Felicity could see the fires and flashes from the PDF barracks and the Arbites Precinct Fortress, along with several other locations. The rooftop was bordered by the sharply pointed roof of the nave on one side, and the now-shattered spire on the other.

Suddenly, the Chaos Lord shot up from the ground and passed behind the spire, before almost as quickly dipping out of view towards the Cathedral's north side. Felicity tried not to panic. Did he see me? He must have. But wouldn't he attack me then? Trying to control her breathing, Felicity panned in a circle slowly, aiming her bolt pistol. Her nearly-empty bolter was mag-locked to her side, and the reliquary case sat at her feet. About a minute later, she heard what sounded faintly like multiple plasma shots coming from the north side, followed by a very loud and unmistakable krak explosion.

"Sisters, what is going on out there? I hear something on the north side, but it isn't-" she started to ask over the vox, but Patricia quickly cut in.

"Felicity, we have a fluid situation down here! I can't tell for sure, but it looks like they're fleeing, around to the north side!" said the Sister Superior, with clear simultaneous excitement and uncertainty in her voice.

Maybe they're beaten, and want to blast their way out of here, Felicity thought. Maybe that means he didn't see me, and he's just taking the lead on getting them through the wall, she thought hopefully. At the same time, she realized just how cold her sweat had become.

Eddzo and his opponent were clearly both weary. They swung, parried, and grappled, but the night had clearly worn on them both. Eddzo kept looking for an opening, knowing that at any moment he could be struck from behind, yet also realizing that the same applied to his opponent. Then, something changed. From behind and off to the left of Eddzo's immediate enemy, a smoke grenade detonated, quickly obscuring many of the combatants. It was followed by another, then several more, as the shrieking voice of some lunatic Chaos warrior yelled "Withdraw!" three times.

As the clouds of thick smoke reduced the already-low visibility to nothing, Eddzo's opponent turned and ran. From the crunching sound of boots, it was clear that the rest of the heretics were doing the same. Eddzo thought about firing into the smoke, or even chasing them, but at the orders from an invisible-but-obvious Arbitrator he began to back up out of the smoke, in order to regroup with his fellows.

Shiori heard the sounds of the heretics scurrying out of the nave, and after a few seconds she and Preacher Gibson peered around the corner to investigate, holding up his Eviscerator as a makeshift shield.

"Sister Superior, they are gone," announced Gibson.

"Move to the windows on the north side," commanded Patricia. "Head up to the second and third floors. Gun them down before they can flee!"

With that, the group split up, and the Crusader decided to search the building, to see if any Chaos scum had sneaked in and secreted themselves somewhere.

Eddzo found himself among a mass of slightly bewildered men. The smoke clouds had lifted, but heretics with flamers had laid down barriers of fire outside both ends of the building, dissuading any pursuit. Penal Troopers were helping one another to stand, others were checking on the status of the fallen, and here and there they executed wounded traitors. Others simply milled around looking for any threats, or simply stared into the distance, appearing haunted. The sound of krak grenade explosions resonated from the far side of the Cathedral. Most of the remaining active Arbitrators were trying to herd the Penal Troopers into some semblance of cohesion. Eddzo spotted another Arbitrator speaking to Slick and a couple of other Penal Troopers. He walked up to them, using some of the water in his insufficient canteen to wash off some of the dirt and blood on his face.

"… saw him. He's wounded, was leanin' against the end of the building over there"- Slick said, pointing towards the entrance to the nave- "but he went around back with the rest of them. Sir." The other Penal Troopers nodded in agreement. Slick, seeing Eddzo's quizzical expression, turned towards him. "The other Ogryn," he said.

"All right," said the Arbitrator. He took a step back, cupped his hands around his mouth, took a deep breath, and leaned back. "Listen up! We have to get inside and fire from..." At that moment, the sounds of a firefight erupted from the far side of the building. "NOW! Move it, damn you!"

Everyone capable of doing so ran towards the available entrances.

Felicity breathed deeply and slowly, feeling herself become calmer, if only slightly. Between the utter confusion at whatever was occurring below, the precious relics at her feet, and the combat elsewhere in the city, her heart was pounding and her skin was prickly. She tried not to let her vision linger on the flames and flashes elsewhere in the city, reminding herself just how much was riding on her at this moment, and how it would be all over as soon as someone (presumably Patricia, she thought) gave her the all-clear.

And then, as she desperately hoped to hear a comforting voice in her vox, her fears were realized. She spun around as she heard the noise of a jump pack behind her, and she beheld a most unusual sight as she fired two shots from her bolt pistol. Largely obscured from view by the corner of the windowed enclosure, the Chaos Lord arose, clutching one Disciple in each arm. As soon as he arrived, he deposited one of his troopers in a crouch on the ledge behind the enclosure, and immediately dropped out of view. One of Felicity's shells went wide, and the other hit the wall. She was about to fire a burst through the wall, hoping to knock the man off the roof, when she heard the whoosh of the jump pack as the Lord was moving towards the other end of the roof. Unwilling to turn her back on the vastly more powerful foe, Felicity turned towards the spire. The Lord was depositing his other underling at another corner, and then leaped to the spire, hiding partially behind it while still sticking his head and shoulders around the side. She knew, pulling the trigger, that his glare beneath his helmet was filled with hunger, anger, and contempt.

Felicity fired a shot at the spire and the Lord behind it, spent one second glancing back and firing a shell in that direction, then shot at the spire again. She could handle the two human foes well enough in a hand-to-hand fight if she needed to, but the Chaos Lord was another matter altogether. He was taunting her, and his taunts quickly became verbal.

"Loyalist worm," he growled. Felicity could now hear a firefight erupting on the north side, but it didn't obscure the Lord's voice as it dripped with amplified cruelty. "Your faith is an empty promise." Felicity shot at him again, and he re-emerged on the other side of the spire. She stole a glance down and to the right, and could see nothing of the Disciple she knew had been there. "Abandon your rotting corpse-Emperor and seize the truth that lingers in your mind every day."

Hearing something behind her, Felicity glanced behind her and saw that the man there had scrambled partway around the ledge, to another position obscured by a large piece of rubble from the spire. She looked in the other direction just in time to see the other trooper doing the same thing. She was a split-second late in firing a shell at him, which blew out the muntins in the nearest window. Dropping into a crouch, she changed magazines with all the speed her training had given her and rose again, with her racing mind finding some clarity.

Get hold of yourself, girl. They're not shooting. They don't want to hit the reliquary. They're trying to reach a point to jump in, they'll hit you, and try to grab the case. I can't step away from it. They're making you lose ammo, but what can you do? She knew of one option.

"Sisters, I have a problem up here," she said over the vox, pausing to shoot again. "Three heretics, one's the Lord." He was speaking again, still imploring her to abandon her faith. She ignored him and tried again to reach Patricia and Shiori. "Sisters?" All she could hear through the vox was a great deal of interference, shouting, and shooting. A pair of las shots, evidently coming from somebody on the ground, hit the spire, and the darkness around it flashed as others flew by. The Chaos lord hopped from the spire to the roof's edge behind a piece of rubble, moving faster than his bulk suggested was possible. Felicity fired two shots, but both only took chunks out of the rubble. "Sisters?" she asked again, without a coherent response. The Lord remained in place, pushing himself up slightly via the piece of the spire, thus keeping some of his weight off of the ledge.

Felicity steadied her aim and fired, seeing if she could possibly hit the visible edges of his armor. Her plan worked, and most of the Lord's right shoulder pauldron was blasted to bits. He flinched to the left, but then spoke again, with no apparent change in mood.

"You wouldn't be the first, you know. The first Sister to join us, I mean..."

That set her off. She knew that was his plan, but she didn't care, and she had to try and kill him quickly in any event. Crouching and leaning to the right as far as she could, she aimed at what looked like a tiny gap in the Lord's cover, where it seemed that a bit of his boot was visible. She fired three times, then leaned the other way and fired a burst as he shifted back to the right of his shrinking cover.

Felicity heard more shuffling behind her. She turned and fired once and then again, shooting through the wall and sending the Disciple plunging off of the roof. She didn't turn in time to see the other man, who had been counting her shots, leap through a gap in the wall and charge, jump onto her back, and attempt to drive a knife under her helmet.

On the northern wall, work proceeded steadily at unsealing the gate. With only one meltagun between them, the Chaos soldier wielding it aimed at the left side of the gate, while to his right, another man repeatedly placed and detonated krak grenades handed to him by his comrades. Between their supply of grenades and fuel for the meltagun, they thought they had enough to blast their through, but if not, they might have to finish the job with lasguns.

Meanwhile, most of the various Chaos troops fanned out in a semi-circle, taking cover behind the trees and other foliage between them and the Cathedral, or at least remaining within the shadows. In the dark of the night, they were difficult to spot. The fires they had laid down at the eastern and western ends of the Cathedral were long but fairly thin, and did not produce extensive light at this distance. Most of them trained their weapons on the Cathedral's windows, while a few kept their eyes on their eastern and western flanks, in case the fires were extinguished and anybody was tempted to foolishly charge around the corners, completely in the open.

They were still taking their positions as the first movement was noticed from a second-floor window, and the one burst of bolter fire from within was immediately answered by a steady stream of autogun bullets and las shots, consistently penetrating each window.

Patricia uttered a gutter oath as she flattened herself against the wall adjacent to a window in the second-floor corridor. Nothing outside could shoot through the exterior walls, but autoguns and lasguns could shoot through her armor given enough luck and skill on the part of the shooter. Patricia hoped that the people in the infirmary below had blocked the windows, though of course visibility was most obscured down there by the tree trunks, among other things, both looking out and looking in.

Shiori was at the next window, and Preacher Gibson at the next after that, and they were both having the same problems as Patricia. Enemy fire entered through the windows and slammed into the corridor's inner wall at a consistent pace. None of them could dare take aim, as often as they tried to squirm into position. After Patricia's first burst, they had managed very little.

"Sisters, I can see something from this angle," said Gibson, raising his laspistol. He was to the left of his window, and like Shiori and Patricia could see and fire only at a very limited area without endangering himself. "The Ogryn!" he exclaimed, opening fire, as he could see the Brute staggering in the direction of the sealed gate, guided by a heretic. With only a couple of seconds of opportunity, such a weak weapon, and at that distance, he either hit nothing or had no effect.

At that moment, the three of them heard something distorted over the vox. It was impossible to make out at first, then it sounded like Felicity's voice.

"Felicity?" asked Patricia. "Felicity, do you copy? Were you calling? Do you need us?" There was no response as far as she could tell, but she did hear the unmistakable sound of either a bolter or bolt pistol firing. Gibson and Shiori both looked at Patricia, and then all three were crawling below the windows and then running for the staircase.

One problem with the Arbitrator's decision was that neither he nor his comrades nor their prisoners had ever been inside of the Cathedral before. It wasn't a complicated, maze-like structure on the inside, but even so, a couple dozen Penal Troopers and their handlers found themselves running into a building without a clear idea of where to go. Some ran to the nave, only to find themselves unable to obtain firing positions thanks to obstructed views, high windows necessitating improvised ladders, and a steady fusillade from outside. Those who retreated from the nave found themselves bumping into their own comrades. The same happened as Penal Troopers entered offices, restrooms, and storage closets, finding them marginally useful at best. When the view from the windows was not hopelessly obscured by darkness and foliage, it was in the line of fire.

One group nearly got shot when they barged into the infirmary, only to find that people inside were trying to cover the two small windows with cabinets and other objects, not shoot from them. Sister Carlotta was seated in a chair against the wall to their left, bandaged, pale, and barely conscious. Her armor was in a heap in the corner. All of the chairs were occupied with reasonably stable wounded, both beds held more serious cases that teams of professionals and amateurs were trying to save, and the Penal Troopers could see a few shrouded bodies lain on the floor against the wall to their right. At Choir-Master Graffin's rather brusque suggestion ("Don't just stand there!"), a couple of Penal Troopers moved to help block the windows, while the others turned back the way they had come, quickly becoming wedged in the doorway.

Eddzo and Slick came upon the scene of confusion in the corridor outside of the infirmary, and decided to look for another way to help.

"Back this way! Let's go up!" said Slick, guiding Eddzo and anyone else who happened to like his suggestion towards the staircase. They rounded the corner and scrambled up to the second floor, only to suddenly come face-to-face with two armored women and one Preacher, all well-armed and in a big hurry. Eddzo had never seen anyone like these women before, but in the same instant that his brain tried to figure out who they were, they made it clear that they meant business.

"MOVE!" shouted the woman in front, pushing her way through men as she ran to the stairs and started to run up. Her two companions were right behind her, and as they followed her up to the third floor, Eddzo and Slick looked one another in the eye. Their assessment was simultaneous and unspoken: This is a big deal.

They turned and ran up the stairs.

Felicity writhed, but she didn't know what else to do. The cliché about time standing still applied perfectly as she tried to grip and hold the knife-arm of her assailant, keep her chin and jawbone pressed down against the blade underneath her helmet, and simultaneously not take one step away from the reliquary case at her feet. The traitor on her back had his legs around her torso, taking the weight off of his arms. He fought her attempts to throw him off, and wriggled the knife closer to her neck. A layer of synthskin extended below the helmet to cover her neck, and Felicity realized with horror that he was sawing through it.

All of this transpired during a few seconds, during which Lord Vanmass worked his way around the rubble and sighted his prize at Felicity's feet. All other considerations were secondary, at least at the moment. There was a city to conquer and Loyalists to kill, but the opportunity to harness whatever power the relics surely contained was critical. He strode through the enclosure as if its material was mere foliage, not noticing as a tumbling statue bounced off his back and fell to the roof, shattering. The Chaos Space Marine Lord, veteran of untold battles on untold worlds, slayer of innumerable foes, took three great and rapid strides across the roof. Felicity's head was down, but over the breathing and grunts of her and her assailant, she heard the footsteps and the labored creaking of the roof. Between desperate thoughts of a way out of this situation and endless prayers to the God-Emperor, a small part of her mind realized that these might be the last sounds she heard.

As it happened, Felicity heard something else, quite loud and unexpected. The next creak of the roof suddenly grew into a great ripping and crashing as the roof collapsed in front of her, taking Lord Vanmass with it. She kicked back and struck the reliquary case with her right heel, and then her left, moving it back slightly. She was about to either scoot back and repeat the process, or attempt to lean forward and throw off her attacker, when Patricia came from behind and used her power sword to stab the heretic sideways through the torso. His corpse fell from her, and Felicity lifted her helmet and raised her hands to her neck, from where blood was starting to flow.

"I'll help her… Sisters, check on it!" said Preacher Gibson, appearing behind Sister Shiori. He pulled a field dressing from under his robe and pressed it hard to Felicity's wound, telling her to sit down. Patricia and Shiori approached the gaping hole in the roof, and, laying prone on their fronts, pointed their weapons inside. They realized that they were looking down into the chambers of the late Pontifex York. His gaudy, tacky room was now demolished, but there was no time to gawk at the wreckage. They both fought the urge to spray all of their remaining bolter shells into the room. The Lord could have left the room already, or have otherwise moved out of sight. Even obscured by a layer of rubble and the Pontifex's purple four-poster bedding, a target the size of the Lord would be impossible to miss…

"There!" screamed Shiori, pulling the trigger of her bolt pistol.

Lord Vanmass took the briefest of pauses to assess his situation. His sensors told him that the Sororitas on the roof had been joined by three people, and two of them, probably Sisters themselves, thus armed enough to present a real danger, were about to gain a line-of-sight upon him. He could reach his plasma pistol, but not in time to shoot both of them. Besides, he was flat on his back, and while chunks of masonry sat on top of much of his body, the Sisters would have much more cover. He was almost helpless.

In an instant, he knew what to do. He awkwardly drew his plasma pistol and aimed it point-blank at the large chunk of rooftop currently sitting atop his torso. He prepared the rest of his muscles to throw himself forward, and tightened his grip on the trigger just as one of the Sisters above yelled "There!"

Eddzo and Slick, accompanied by a pair of other Penal Troopers Eddzo didn't know, were partway into the attic when they all heard and felt the massive crash behind and below them. They stopped in their tracks, and all were unsure of what to do next.

"We gotta check!" said Slick. After a moment's hesitation, Eddzo went to join him.

"Yeah, there's nobody else to do it."

The four men ran back down the stairs and back into the third-floor corridor, reaching a set of ornately carved double doors with dust emanating from underneath, evidently due to whatever it was that had just happened. Slick and one of the other convicts hopped to the left side of the doors, while Eddzo and the remaining Penal Trooper stayed on the right. Eddzo was afraid that they would all end up standing there unsure of how to proceed, since none of them had been trained in this sort of thing, and they couldn't very well try to get one of the Arbitrators, who had.

Slick smoothly crouched in front of the middle of the doors, and pointed his lasgun directly at the space between the doors where the lock extended. Living up to his nickname, thought Eddzo. Slick pointed forward and made eye contact with each man, indicating that, since the doors opened inward, everybody should plow straight ahead as soon as the lock was no more.

Had he acted a second sooner, all four of them would be either dead or at least burnt, as, before he could pull the trigger, a loud cracking noise erupted from inside, followed one second later by an equally loud whoosh as a blast of scorching air sent each man tumbling backwards, covering their faces with their arms as they hit the floor. The smell of burning hair filled the corridor, and all of them were too distracted to notice the combined sound of shattering glass and masonry, along with a couple of exploding bolter shells.

The bulk of the rubble exploded into a choking vapor of sand, and a split-second later the room erupted in flame and smoke just as Shiori and Patricia's bolter shells exploded within. The combined effect obscured the lenses in the Sisters' helmets temporarily, but they both heard enough to look to the right in time to see their quarry, jump pack trailing thick black smoke and shedding what looked to be chunks of armor, hurtle over the Hilltop wall and immediately descend, now just outside of the Old City.

"We hurt him," said Patricia. "At least."

"Yes we did, Sister Superior," Shiori replied.

With that, both Sisters turned around and ran to Felicity's side. Preacher Gibson held a now-red pack of bandages to Felicity's neck, and was already starting to guide her towards the stairs.

"You did wonderfully, Sister Felicity. Praise the Emperor and His Golden Throne; your bravery saved all we have left of Saint Erica," Patricia said.

"Thank you, Sister Superior," said Felicity, her voice quavering as she tried not to cry. The combined effects of her injury, the come-down from her brush with death, and the realization of the import of what she'd done, magnified by Patricia's praise, were already taking their toll.

"Shiori, take the reliquary and follow them. The heretics are withdrawing, and the Cathedral should be secure. I'll try to pick them off from here!" ordered Patricia, already heading for the roof's northern edge. "For the Emperor!"

"For the Emperor!" echoed Felicity, Shiori, and Gibson, as they started to descend the stairs.

It was almost too late for Patricia to provide much assistance. She carefully crawled up to the edge of the roof and peered over. She could hear a rhythmic pounding that she took to be the surviving Ogryn Brute somewhere within the exterior wall, punching into the now-weakened and thinned rock. She also surmised that the Chaos Lord was on the other side, shooting plasma or at least cutting into the sealed gate from outside. The enemy soldiers were keeping up a slow and steady rate of fire, and few shots came from the Cathedral. Still, she had a unique vantage point. If she couldn't stop them from escaping, she could at least stop some of them.

As Patricia took aim, the situation abruptly changed. She couldn't hear any shouted commands over the gunfire, but suddenly small objects began to fly from the tree line, land in front of the Cathedral, and burst into thick clouds of white and gray smoke. She saw gouts of flame erupt within the greenery, setting the trees ablaze. They were making a run for it, and as they were leaving cover, nobody within the Cathedral could see them. Patricia, however, could see over the clouds from the smoke grenades, and her helmet's lenses could at least help with the black smoke rising from the trees into the night sky.

Besides, they were all running through a small space behind the trees and in front of the now-unsealed gate. Patricia fired full-auto, pivoting her bolter in a tight arc for the few seconds needed to empty the magazine. If the blurry images she saw through the flames and smoke were anything to go by, she had indeed punished more heretics for their transgressions. Patricia drew her bolt pistol in the hope that perhaps someone would still be in range, but she found no targets as the last of the enemy scurried through the gate and down the hill, out into the wider city. The sounds of battle continued from well beyond the walls, flashes of gunfire appeared consistently, and new fires blazed as others burned out. Patricia turned and hurried towards the stairs.

Felicity stepped onto the third floor with shaking legs, and briefly glanced at the four men in penal jumpsuits halfway down the hall. She could smell the mixture of odors that addressed her brief confusion as to what had happened here. One man leaned against the balcony coughing, two others were wiping and shaking soot from their faces, and another was on his back, having evidently dumped water on his face. Neither party said a word to the other before Felicity and her minders continued their descent.

Eddzo, Slick and most of the other remaining Penal Troopers sat in the remaining pews in the nave, among the bullet holes, splinters, broken glass, scorch marks, and general wreckage. The corpses had been shoved outside; full cleanup would have to come later. The Arbitrators and Cathedral staff had herded them in here, while militia and others took up watch positions elsewhere. Everyone was exhausted, many held their heads in their hands, rested against their lasguns, leaned against one another, and otherwise tried to rest as the emotional denouement passed through them. Eddzo tried to remember who had fallen dead and pondered what was happening to the wounded in the Old City outside of the Cathedral, whether on the Hilltop or farther out. There had to be clinics and medics' offices or something in the Old City, but in the face of so many wounded civilians and some Arbitrators, a bunch of convicts would have the lowest priority.

The light of the rising sun moved across his eyelids, and Eddzo snapped back to consciousness. He saw a group gathered on the altar: the armored Sister who carried a sword, she was probably an officer; the other Sister; one of the Arbitrators who, with his helmet off, Eddzo recognized as one of the Proctors (an officer among the screws); and a couple of robed clergy. They weren't talking to each other, but the Sister with the sword looked like she was trying to reach somebody on the vox. She was speaking loudly, the nave had good acoustics by design, and the exhausted Penal Troopers were making very little noise. Eddzo could hear most of what she was saying.

"No… she's… yes, Madam Wadey is dead also. Yes, of course I'm sure"- she looked exasperated at this- "we found her in her office. Yeah, through the window. Well, we're not sure who's in charge. Yes, the relics are safe, thanks in large part to-"

"Hey, check it out," said Slick softly. Eddzo glanced to the right of the group on the altar and saw two women, each carrying a cup, one leaning on a man and the other on a woman. The quartet moved slowly across the altar, drawing looks and nods from the de facto leaders gathered there, before stepping down the steps into the nave. One of the leaning women had bandages wrapped around the areas where her arms met her torso, along with most of the other areas with major joints. The other had a serious-looking patch of some kind on the right side of her neck. Both women looked pale and tired, probably due to painkillers on top of everything else.

Their helpers led both injured women to the pew where Eddzo sat with Slick, and the two prisoners quickly scooted over. Eddzo caught a glimpse of a fleur-de-lis tattoo on one woman's bare shoulder, and realized that these two were also Adepta Sororitas of some type, like those on the altar, where the animated, one-sided conversation continued.

"Yes, we wounded him, and they suffered many losses… no, I don't know how many… but most of those were mutants and abhumans… yes, Beastmen… their regulars were pretty professional. Yes, I know you can see that..."

Felicity sat down on the pew bench and leaned back. Carlotta settled in next to her, and the two Sisters Pronatus held hands. The infirmary was crowded, hot, and becoming disgusting, so everyone who could safely exit and was not involved in treatment had done so. Although they could have sat in a dark, empty office, it seemed right to join their Sisters and fellow servants of the Emperor.

Felicity sipped her water and listened. It was tempting to imagine that, if unscathed, she could venture out into the city and hunt down the followers of the Ruinous Powers, but that wasn't her mission, and she knew it.

"Is somebody trying to get Patricia and the others to go somewhere?" Carlotta asked weakly.

"Maybe. That's what it sounds like. I'm not sure," answered Felicity.

"I don't think that's a good idea, under the circumstances."

"I know. Our responsibility is here. Saint Erica, and her Cathedral. We're not soldiers."

The male voice interjecting from her right startled Felicity. "Same here," he said.

Felicity and Carlotta turned to look, making eye contact with Eddzo and Slick. Felicity saw their singed, partially blackened jumpsuits and lack of facial hair including eyebrows and eyelashes, and burn marks on their skin, and realized that these were two of the men she had seen on the third floor as she made her way to the infirmary; evidently they had been burned by the Chaos Lord's jump pack as he made his escape. She thought about how lucky they were to have avoided horrific burn injuries that would render death preferable.

These men were convicted of crimes, many of which could be classed as heresy. If Felicity and her Sisters discovered cases like that, they would have been completely within their rights to execute them on the spot. As it happened, these were not normal times. The Penal Troopers had saved the lives of those who worked in the Cathedral as well as the lives of most of the residents of the Old City. Although ordered into battle by their Arbitrators, the truth was that they were seeking absolution for their sins by dying for the Emperor, or, in rare cases, gaining forgiveness due to their exemplary service to the Golden Throne. Felicity was impressed.

"Well met, fellows," she said, amazed that she was speaking this way to such people.

Eddzo was not used to this situation either. After pausing, slightly stunned, for a moment, he felt Slick nudging his side.

"Well met, Sisters," said Eddzo and Slick, more or less in unison.

"For the Emperor," said Felicity.

"For the Emperor," chorused Carlotta, Slick, and Eddzo. The moment passed, and everyone looked with expectation and wonder at the altar.