Blood Seekers – The sisters
"Cleanse my soul. Clear my mind. Enable my body. Grant that my station may serve. Grant that my strength may suffice. Grant that my life may give honour. Grant that my death may earn it." – Sororitas prayer
"So, do we-" "Praise the Emperor with-" "-humbly implore you, our-" "-our blood, our effort-" "-father, our emperor to give unto us-" "-and the deaths of these heretics!" "-the strength and ability to see your will fulfilled."
The prayers of my sister superior clash with mine, not surprising, we don't often see eye to eye; save in serving our Emperor with firearm and fury. On this day we are cleansing an apocalypse cult, based primarily in the hive city Service, we are starting from the outside and working our way in. Hopefully to see the end of this cult before they can enact their cursed plans and destroy this faithful hive and all its people. I, sister Helena thought it best to stab at the heart, the head, destroy this cults ability to coordinate and make decisions as quickly as possible. And said as much during our strategic briefing, for speaking out of turn and in contradiction to the mission's palatine sister I was assigned additional prayer as penance.
Despite my softer prayer I am no less hard than any of my sisters. Faith is my rock, prayer my fuel and action my greatest joy. My squad continues to advance, sister Sina's flamer a holy roar that purges the sins from these heretics, music to our ears.
Although I am new to my vestments I am savvy enough to know the mission here has a trump card to play. I don't know exactly what it is, but I suspect well enough. I was almost admitted into the Order of the Endless Word my convents dialogous's order. I am good with words and apparently I have a mind capable of acting as intermediary between many diverse factions; prime Dialogous material. I refused, technically the easier path with the longer lifespan I knew in my heart and soul that it was in the crucible of battle that I would be found. And I am. My blood is aflame with righteous fury and the Emperors enemies fall like wheat to the scythe of our squad!
"Pause naught for a moment, nor hesitate for a second, lest the enemies of mankind use that gap to bring ruination to our flock!"
Sister superior Kathrine's furious prayers push us forwards as much as our martial victories in this battle. For all our differences I would follow her into the Eye of Terror without hesitation. For she is my sister as surely as Palatine Sabbat who leads this mission or Canoness Anita leader of the Order of Eternal Vigil and by extension all the Orders based in our convent on Soul. Soul, our moon in orbit of Vellus prime of the Vellus system. About 3 months warp travel from here, tides permitting.
With this minor nest of fools purged we are given a small respite, and as sister Sina inspects the squad's weaponry, and Kathrine our armour it is my turn to lead us in prayer. To gird our souls for the continuing mission.
"May he, who is forever in torment, look upon us. Look upon us and see that we carry his light when he cannot. For it is in service, this service to the most holy of goals that we find strength; strength in our limbs, and in our souls. For though we are armoured in ceramite we are girded in faith. And it is that faith that will guide us, embolden us, and see us kneel at His throne when our service is finished."
Hive Service, how I loathe hive cities; the stacking of human homes like cells in a beehive, or prison. Billions or even trillions of people living inside one filth encrusted domicile seemingly designed to crush the human spirit. I was lucky, I was spotted early on in hive Vellus and sent to the convent to hone and improve myself. But the vast majority of the poor souls inside Service are doomed to the worst sort of service, where human lives are cheaper than bullets and the only currency is either blind faith, or fear.
An inquisitor who made us aware of this den of heresy had done her homework, she knew where the central cult was based and as the other squads of this mission complete their tasks the cults reach reduces to just that den.
A slum of habs in a slice of decrepitude on the poorer hemisphere of the hive is home to the 'den'. They have their own name for it, taught by their demon masters but none of the sisters will filthy our souls or our tongues learning it. In the heart of this slum there was a glimmer of hope two thousand years ago, and the governor place a small section of 'up-habs' into each declining hab zones, a gift for those who do service to Service. A temptation to toe the line to the millions of downtrodden. It failed, those who moved into them were pariahs to the rest and so they were ignored, forgotten and left to rot until they were just another rusting hole.
The visage of wealth, ignored for centuries and then moulded by foul minds to a housing estate, temple, armoury and fortress by these self-same lost minds. I'm starting to see the logic of ensuring we cannot be surprised when tackling this particular challenge.
"Cleanse my Soul."
The first, last push. Our noose tightens and our enemies know it for they fight like cornered leonids, such is their fury that id almost respect them, if not for everything else about how they conduct their lives.
"Clear my mind."
Our first setback, some cursed philosopher warrior said something about battleplans and enemies back on ancient Terra, I know as a disciple of an order devoted as much to the written word as the battle's fire I should have more respect for our blessed language. But its difficult when the blasted enemy just shot my bolter out of my hands!
"Enable my body."
Halfway done and our first loss, lucky for some, a terrible wound for us. Sister Arabella, our squads second. Known as much for her sharp tongue as her angelic voice brought done by a soulless trap that saw her turned to ashes before she could utter a word. And along with her, injuries to half the squad, not including my hands.
"Grant that my station may serve."
Some, many, would say that choosing the fate to die in battle, in pain and wishing for more is a fool's wish. If that is the case then this convent, as well as all the others, is host to the greatest fools this galaxy has ever seen. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
"Grant that my strength may suffice."
The last of them, the elites, the demagogues, decent fire control and almost respectable armour. Our tide slows, and our losses are starting to show. Nearly 400 sisters were borne to this planet at campaigns start, I'd guess less than half left, 200 souls in exchange for billions, not that they will ever know it.
"Grant that my life may give honour."
Loss after loss, life after life. 47 sisters started the first, last push, and now of my squad only two remain. Who can even guess at the rest? "Our final march shall be our greatest!", "May the evil here wither in the face of our courage, and die with the spilling of our blood!". Sister Kathrine is a rock, her face etched with the loss of each of her sisters, and the myriad sisters whom have died today for victory. Even though that victory is as of yet not achieved.
"Grant that my death may earn it."
Last, bleeding, pain. Excoriating as Kathrine would have said, and this apocalypse cult has the seeds for its own destruction, of course. With Kathrine's bolter and the last of sister Sina's charges I find my rest. And hopefully with it, Service's salvation.