Editing The Times and Trials of Klightus (section)

===Second Story===
Klightus forced himself to his feet slowly, folding his hands over his chest to form the aquila to the statue one last time. His leg still hurt, but it wasn't enough to bother him now. A week, maybe a little more, and he'd be right as rain. The past fortnight had been good to him in that respect. In others...

His return to the Sororitas camp hadn't exactly been met with fanfare. Indeed, many of them now openly treated him with suspicion. Sister Bethany's silent testimony didn't seem to be enough to satisfy them; for a while, he was subject to constant interrogation. It was getting better, though. Yesterday, he'd only had to spend an hour being questioned by a Sister Superior. Apparently, they were starting to honestly believe that he wasn't tainted.

When he wasn't being questioned, he spent his time any number of ways. Technically, he was free to move about the encampment as he wished, but he tried to stay out of people's way and keep his head down. Much of his time was spent in prayer or learning this Order's history and practices. A good deal was also spent in physical therapy -- his arm was healed to the point where he only felt pain when he pushed it too hard. He had to admit, as much as he knew about being a field Medicae, he could learn a great deal from the Chirugens here.

A gentle hand on his back reminded him of the other way that he spent his free time.

He turned to find Sister Bethany smiling shyly at him. She was in armor, which meant that she was going to go out on a mission. He didn't like that. She still wasn't doing the greatest; her limp was still blatantly obvious. But he wasn't the one to give the orders, and he would never doubt the will of the Canoness. "How are you d-doing?"

Bethany touched her armor where she'd been wounded -- either she'd received a replacement, or they'd patched her up well. She smiled a little at him and raised her eyebrows. Good, she was alright. Either that, or it was her stubbornness talking. Her face screwed up in concern as she reached out, her hand hovering just over his leg.

"I'm f-fine," he said warmly, taking her hands. The two of them spent a long moment staring at each other in silence before he spoke again. "You have a mission." She nodded, glancing down at her armor. It had their standard pack on, but it looked more like the first time he'd seen her. "How long b-before you leave?" Her slight frown spoke volumes. Very soon.

He placed his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. "May the Emperor g-guide your blows, and smite your f-foes. May He grant you His b-blessing, granting trials and hardships that you m-might overcome, and His supreme blessing upon their completion. May He... M-May He bring you back to me safe and whole. Ave Imperator."

Klightus' eyes opened, to find hers staring back at him. The blush on her cheeks made his feel hot. He began to pull his head away, only for her to press them together again. This time, her eyes closed, her lips silently moving. He couldn't make out what she was mouthing, but it didn't matter. To receive a blessing from a member of the Sororitas, or even just a prayer... That was more than enough of an honor for Klightus. Bethany just made it sweeter.

"Ave Imperator," he whispered softly. That made her smile again. They squeezed each others hands, a sign of support, of... Well. Bethany glanced behind her, and Klightus didn't like the look on her face. It meant that she had to leave now. She looked back to him apologetically for a moment, one lip caught between her teeth.

And then she kissed him. It wasn't a long kiss, but it was enough to make his breath catch in his chest, to make his head swim. He wasn't even aware that his hands had come up to frame her face gently. He only realized it when she broke the kiss. His eyes opened slowly to look at her. She smiled and brushed her thumbs across his cheeks. He couldn't help but smile at her demand.

"Go," he said weakly. "B-before I want you t-to stay any more than I already do."

Nodding, she released him, taking a step back. Oh, that was painful. It felt... good to have her so close, and now... She paused to look back at him, giving him a tender smile before leaving the tent.

Alone.

Klightus sighed to himself, running his hands through his hair. Getting longer than regulation length again. No matter. Nothing that he could do about it right now; he didn't want to bother the Sisters for something so inconsequential as that. He sighed again, wishing he'd asked for a lock of her hair or something. Or had given her one of his. Something to keep her close even when she was away.

But his thoughts were ripped away as the tent opened again. He looked up to see her moving quickly towards him, his breath catching in his chest. His mouth opened to speak.

Words weren't coming, though, when she rather quite angrily grabbed him by his uniform shirt and pulled him close. "What did you do to my sister?" she growled.

No, not Bethany. They may have looked alike, the scar the only difference in their faces. This was Sister Amaia. And... not quite the greeting that he wanted, either. "N-nothing," he stammered. "She w-wanted to see h-how I was doing! She... w-wanted to let me know that she was leaving!"

Amaia pulled him closer, staring into his eyes until he flinched away. "Is. That. All?"

If he wasn't sweating before, he was now. But he also wouldn't lie. "She k-k-kissed me?" Instinctively, he flinched, prepared for the strike. When it didn't come, he held it for several seconds, he opened one eye.

She was staring at him evenly, her head pulled back a little bit. "She kissed you?" He nodded, not even trying to get the words out this time. "Is this the first time?"

His throat felt horribly dry as he swallowed. His tongue felt several sizes too large. "N-no." His voice was cracking in fear. "She k-kissed me once before. When she was p-p-presenting m-me to the regiment."

Amaia seemed to consider this for several long moments. He couldn't even begin to imagine what was going on in her head. Sadly, the few things that he could imagine almost universally ended with him on the wrong side of a bolter. Or a flamer. Or a melta.

Instead, in a sudden flurry of movement, he found himself rather violently thrown to the floor. Amaia's arm was pressed against his throat, those ice-blue eyes boring into him. "Guardsman Klightus," she said in an oddly even tone. "She's been virtually dancing since she returned from that little... excursion. So, I swear to you, should you hurt my sister, even one little bit, I will make you wish that we had decided you worth purging the moment we first laid eyes upon you."

Klightus nodded his acceptance, unable to form words right now. Or, to be honest, breathe. Frankly, he was thankful that he'd already used the facilities. But Amaia seemed to accept this answer. She stood slowly, staring down at him. "The Canoness wishes to speak with you."

With that, she turned, stalking out. Somehow, Klightus thought to himself, this day was only going to get worse.

----

"And you must be Klightus."

He stood at attention, his hands folded over his chest to form the Aquila. Though the Canoness spoke with a kind tone, she was the equivalent, or better, to his Commander. She'd survived countless battles, and the fact that she wasn't barking at him was itself a testament to her grace. "Guardsman Klightus, Field Medicae of the Jignur Third Regiment, r-reporting as ordered ma'am!"

The woman's lips quirked as her eye looked him over. "At ease, Guardsman." He quickly found himself standing at parade rest, his eyes still focused straight ahead. "You're caused quite a stir, you know."

"Yes m-ma'am. I'm sorry ma'am."

"I'm used to being called other titles." She seemed entirely amused by his behavior. "Tell me, Guardsman, do you fear me?"

"No ma'am. You d-do the Emperor's work. You act of His w-will. If you find me lacking, I will be purified so I do not offend H-His eye." Though his back was sweating...

"A proper attitude," the Canoness said. He would never get used to augmetic eyes. Or, at least, somebody with only one of them. "Or at least, the proper words. But that is neither here nor there. I have need of you."

"I am b-but a humble servant of the Emperor," Klightus professed, bowing his head.

"But aren't we all?" She smirked. Somehow, that didn't help. "There is a regiment that is about to move so that they might retake Litmore City. Are you familiar with it?"

"No ma'am."

"They say that within the end of the millennium it will become a hive, much like two other cities here. From what I have learned, it is a worthless place, more likely to breed the sin of taint than faithfulness. However, if the planet is to be purged from the Chaos within, we must cleanse these cities. As such, for the initial assault, I am assigning a squad of Sisters to assist the Guardsmen. However, your cant is slightly different from our own. I would appreciate somebody who can be dedicated to assisting in the communications between the two of us. Do you understand?"

"Yes ma'am." Oh, did he understand, and it sent shivers down his spine. He wasn't stupid -- there were times where it took minutes for him to give a simple message. The fact that they were expecting him to do this on the battlefield...

"Good. I've taken the liberty to notify your Commander of this already." Oh, this was so not going good. "As well, I believe that you are familiar with one of the Sisters you will be traveling with." That made him perk slightly. The possibility of working with Bethany... "Sister Amaia." ...or the woman who had just threatened to make the end of a flamer seem like a vacation. "I suggest you prepare your gear and make haste, by the grace of the Emperor."

"His will be done," Klightus replied quickly, giving her the aquila again before turning to leave.

It took a while for Klightus to get to the Rhino. If there was one thing that he'd learned, it was that the Sisters put symbols of the Emperor everywhere. He'd been trained well, too -- salute every one of them. Still, it was strange. He'd always thought that the Sisters would attack as one whole group, but there seemed to be plenty of groups heading out for one location or another. Scouting, perhaps? Trying to find the largest concentration to assault?

Either way, he decided it was above his pay grade.

The flash of blue staring at him told him he'd reached the right Rhino at last. He gave Amaia the sign of the aquila, and she motioned for him to get in. Moving to the back, he paused to once again salute each of the Sisters already inside individually. Only then did he quickly stow his lasrifle and found his way into a seat. At least he was only sitting next to Amaia, with only armor on the other side.

"Glad you could join us," one of the Sisters said as the hatch closed. He found himself blushing a little. "You'll be serving as liaison between us and the Hygar Ninth Regiment. Do you know what Celestines are?" He shook his head. "You'll find out." That didn't help his nerves any.

"I'm Cordelia, Sister Superior of the squad." That explained the authoritative nature to her voice. "You know Sister Amaia already, I'm told. She vouches for your combat abilities."

Klightus looked at her, met by an even stare. Swallowing hard, he decided to try a risk. "N-no doubt she w-wishes to verify for herself that I am t-t-t..." He winced, focusing. "Taintless."

"I told you he had a stutter," Amaia said plainly.

"You didn't say that he had a brain," another sister cut in. A quick glance revealed she was... a Hospitaller? They were the inspiration for Jingur to make the Field Medicae. There was something about her voice...

"He should have some," said Amaia, looking at another Sister. "Or the taint of corruption. He is a noble, after all."

That got the Sister's attention. Leaning forward, she examined him in a new light. Her brows were pushed together, making her face look even more weathered. "What House? What planet?"

"Gramon," he said, feeling himself blush under the new scrutiny. "Of Jingur IV."

"Ah," she said, settling back. "I am Julianne. My father was Kleber Gundersen of Globus."

That said a lot. She was either the sole survivor of her family or a bastard child. From Klightus' guess, it was the latter. He'd long since discovered that everybody in this Order was either from a shrine world or an orphan -- given that her father was a noble on Globus, that was out of the question. So, bastard child, mother died. Right. In his mind, he pegged her as the oldest here.

"I am Quintilla," said the next sister. "Across from me is Sister Ephrael." The other sister nodded, her features hidden behind her helmet. "She doesn't talk much, but given you were with Sister Bethany, that shouldn't be too bad. She's a chatterbox by comparison." She paused for half a breath, her finger tapping against her kneeguard. "Now."

The Rhino lurched into into motion, forcing Klightus to put his hand against the armor. Quintilla grinned and continued. "Stay behind her unless you like being set on fire."

Right. That told him everything that he needed to know about Sister Ephrael.

Klightus' head was whirling, trying to process everything. Amaia didn't give him the chance. "You can't see her from here, but up front is Sister Nyze. She actually trained with Bethany." That got Klightus' interest. "She didn't quite make the cut, but she picked up the preference for two boltpistols. She doesn't trust the machine spirit to drive. She's a little... odd."

"That is hardly fair, Sister Amaia." Klightus looked back to the Hospitaller. "She is a true warrior, and I dare any of you to keep up with her once the combat starts." Her eyes turned to Klightus. "I am Sister Plath. It is a pleasure to meet you, Guardsman Klightus."

Now Klightus recognized what was odd about her voice. It was almost as if she were... singing every word. Still, he bowed his head in reverence. "It is an h-h-honor to meet you, Sister Plath. I hope to l-learn by your example."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise for a moment. "Truly? ...Ah, yes, that's right. You are a... combat medicae, I believe it was called? Tell me, how did you end up in such a position?"

He felt uneasy under the scrutiny. "I l-learned a bit about medicae procedures as a ch-child. C-combined with my c-combat skills, I was deemed worthy for this p-position, and given f-further training."

"They speak of your skills, but where did you earn them?" Sister Julianne asked quietly.

Klightus shifted slightly in his seat. He didn't like being the focus of attention. "I w-was trained b-by Sister Kandra, of the Orders Famulous. When she l-learned of m-my destiny to serve with the Guard, she began a strict regime. After morning p-prayer, I would descend the tower and then ascend it again as fast as possible. Then breakfast. Then came f-fencing training, followed by a physical training regime. Training with pistols and the las came after lunch, interspersed with p-pain resistance t-training. After dinner, she would have m-me drilled on protocol b-by a former Sergeant."

"That sounds fairly strict for a noble," Sister Cordelia mused to herself.

He found his eyes closing as old scripture studies came to the forefront. "And thus, the Light shown b-by His Majesty is reflected upon the s-souls of all humans. It is this Light that b-brings Joy upon the Hearts of Man, much as a mirror c-casts an image. Yet this mirror can become w-worn and tarnished. It is only through Hardship, Struggle, and Pain that can cleanse the Soul. Only He brings Joy, and through the Struggle of Man, guided by Faith in His vision, can one hope to receive His g-gifts, and to be Welcomed into the God Emperor of Mankind's Embrace. Ave Imperator."

"I'm unfamiliar with that particular scripture." Sister Julianne frowned a little, thinking.

"Ostagarian," Sister Ephrael's voice filtered through her helmet.

Klightus nodded. "C-correct. Ostagarianism is a-an offshoot of the Thorian belief. W-we believe that happiness is granted through duty, d-dedication, sacrifice, and the righteous adherence to the Emperor's will. Through faithful adherence to His will, He will allow a person true h-h-happiness, in this life and the hereafter. Decadence, and turning away f-from His will only give the illusion of h-happiness, but allow damnation to g-grow within."

"An odd view for a noble to have," Amaia mused to herself.

Klightus was about to answer when the Rhino had a sudden burst of speed, making him quick to brace himself. After a moment, a voice came over the speakers. "Forgive me, Sisters, but I just got a vox from the guard." The going became a lot more bumpy. "They're trying to gain purchase within the city for our arrival, but they are encountering resistance. Cultists are sending meat to the grinder. I am taking a shortcut. Hold on!"

"Harnesses," Sister Cordelia barked. Everybody reached up for their harness, puling it into place. He barely got his snapped into place when there was a sudden lurch and a sense of weightlessness. Moments later, the Rhino came crashing back to earth, slamming him back into his pack painfully. It didn't seem to slow the vehicle down any, though. Still, he had the feeling that by the time they got there, he'd be covered in bruises. Again.

"Here," Amaia said, offering a hand to Klightus. He took it, and she withdrew, revealing two vox beads. "One for our channel, one for the Guard. You'll tie into our vox network, boosting your range so long as you're with us." He nodded, working them into his ears. Better not to question. "Also, I left a little something in the bottom of your pack in case you need it."

That earned a surprised blink out of him, but he didn't have time. The sisters were already putting their hands together, bowing their heads in prayer. He actually enjoyed praying with them a great deal -- their prayers felt more comfortable than the simple Litany of War.

"Get us into a good flanking position," Cordelia barked.

"How many do you want me to run down?" came Nyze's cool response.

"Just get us into position and allow the machine spirit to do its duty."

"By His grace, I see them in the distance."

Amaia nudged Klightus. "That's your cue."

The moment of truth. He took a deep breath. "How l-long until we get there?"

There was a heartbeat's span of time before Quintilla responded. "With how fast we're going, I'd say seven minutes."

"Vector?"

"What?"

Great. He unhooked the metal harness and slammed it up until it locked, using it to pull him to his feet. The Rhino hit a bump (or maybe a hill, at this speed he couldn't tell) causing him to almost fall into Sister Plath, had she not moved to catch him. Quickly, though, he righted himself, using what handholds he could to move to the front of the vehicle, opening the door to look out. At least that gave him a visual, no matter how bad.

Klightus nodded, touching one hand to his ear. "Kirol N-Ninth, do you c-copy? Over."

There was a pause before the machine spirit whispered the reply into his ear. "This is Kirol Fifth. Identify yourself. This channel is dedicated for communications with the Adepta Sororitas, over."

He swallowed, closing his eyes. "Kirol Ninth, this is Guardsman K-Klightus Gramon, of the Jignur Third Regiment, acting l-liaison between the Adepta S-Sororitas and the Guard." He paused a beat to think. "Code Sororitas One. We a-are on approach, over."

"Confirmed, Sororitas One. What's your ETA? Over." At least he sounded more agreeable now.

"K-Kirol Ninth, ETA in five minutes. We are approaching on your seven in a-armored transport with intent to perform flanking maneuvers. Upon disembark, w-we will allow the Machine Spirit to assume control. Repeat, on fast approach in a Rhino on your seven with intent to f-flank. Upon disembark, the Machine Spirit will provide s-support. Over."

"Sororitas One, roger that. We are eagerly awaiting your arrival. Kirol Ninth out."

"Ave Imperator." Braced as he was, it probably wasn't the best bet to try and look back to yell at Cordelia, so instead he hit his vox bead with his shoulder. "It's done, S-Sister Superior. They are awaiting our a-arrival."

He spared a quick glance down to Sister Nyze and almost said hi, but thought better of it. She was focused on driving. Instead, he focused on their path... and kind of wished he didn't. He didn't even want to think about how hard she was pushing the machine spirit. That worry only became worse when she didn't slow down.

For a brief moment he thought she might plow through the very guardsmen they were here to help, but to her credit, she found an opening. Instead of plowing through guardsmen, she began to move through heretics and traitors, trying to find a good position to deploy.

Only there wasn't a good place, just places that weren't as bad as others. He heard the two weapons on top firing madly. From the sound of it, two storm bolters. Good. Finally, however, Quintilla stopped hard, sliding sideways and slamming him into the hull.

"Everybody out! For the Emperor!" Klightus was only vaguely aware of Cordelia's command, but nobody else seemed to be. As he was still righting himself, they were grabbing their weapons and hauling out. He didn't need to have his wits about him to follow suit -- he'd been through enough hot deployments.

He came out behind Julianne. She had... some sort of large spear, and a bolt pistol. Behind him was Sister Nyze, already sprinting for the front with her twin pistols firing, and Cordelia taking the rear. No matter. He sighted a heretic as he finished the Litany of the Lasrifle and fired. That was the one good thing about being as surrounded as they were -- no lack of targets. Just point and keep firing, saying as many litanies and oaths as can while you go.

But the Rhino was moving, and with it his cover. Klightus kept close to it, almost shooting from the hip.

"Nice to have you with us, Sororitas One." The voice in his ear was grim, but manageable. "You're going to want to move to our position ASAP. They've been setting off blasts in your area, and we're worried about the upper levels."

"R-roger." Klightus paused in his firing to put his hand to the vox bead. "Sisters, they advise that we push towards them q-quickly. This area could c-collapse any minute."

"Thank you, Klightus." Surprisingly, that came from Amaia. He was surprised by how little chatter there was. Oh, they were yelling. Curses and oaths of fury and righteous vengeance. But there wasn't much in the way of direction. Apparently, they all knew what to do already.

But something felt... off. They were making good progress towards the Guard, but... He glanced around for a moment, pausing to shoot at another traitor who had come into view. Everybody was focusing on the Rhino or the Sisters and not him. ...Sisters.

He looked around frantically, shooting again when a shot grazed his armor. Finally, he saw what he was looking for, or rather, didn't see it. That great spear with the box. He stopped dead in his tracks to look, ignoring cover. There was a throng of them not charging, and even facing away. There.

There wasn't any thought, just that sense of duty. He fired from the hip as he charged towards them, ignoring everything else. If somebody came too close, they got a healthy dose of bayonet, but otherwise he kept the las focused on the throng. There was a soldier on the field who needed his help, and he wasn't about to abandon her.

"Klightus," Cordelia barked. "Where are you going?"

"Juliana!" He fired again. "Juliana, do you copy? Over!"

A flash from inside the throng was his only reply. He lifted his las, only for his target to explode. The one next to him did the same. Cordelia was offering cover. Good enough for him. Lowering his weapon, he began to sprint. Just how many of the residents had taken up with the heretics? Did the entire city participate in the rebellion or something?

As he flung himself into the crowd, he fell into a simple yet effective pattern. Stab, strike with the butt of his las. Stab, strike. Stab, strike. A flash of movement, she was still in there. Stab and strike. Scream the Emperor's wrath. Stab, strike. They were pressing in too deep, overwhelming her in sheer numbers. They weren't doing much damage, but they were preventing her from fighting back through the weight of their bodies. Stab and strike. The twists amongst them were the worst, offensive not only to the Human form, but also to his own efforts.

A meter away from her, he felt the rumble. The kind of rumble that tells you that everything isn't going to be okay and no matter how much you were thinking that this was going to be a bad day, you were wrong. It was worse. Behind him there was a scream of metal snapping, the groan of stone collapsing. The ceiling came tumbling down. It gave a pause to the fighting, killing plenty of the traitors to the Imperium, but the way back to the other Sisters was now blocked. If they weren't crushed.

"Sister Julianne," Klightus screamed. He had to help clear enough out to give her room to fight back. One thing at a time, and right now it was killing as many as possible. Ignore the ringing in the ears and fight. Ignore the dust in the air and fight. Even as the traitors began to drop around him, he kept pushing himself. He was faintly aware of the fact that his upper lip felt strangely wet, of the pounding between his ears, of the blurring of his vision.

There were... cultists in the distance. He could barely make them out, just standing there. "Julianne!" He thought he heard her give a reply, but he wasn't sure. He could barely hear anything. He forced sluggish arms to move, trying to draw a bead. The first shot went wild. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. The second shot was closer. His legs felt as if they might break under their own weight. His third shot hit. He didn't know why he was focusing on them and not the throngs, but it was important.

Klightus fell to one knee, laboring to draw breath. His head felt like it was going to explode. He looked over to Julianne. She was a blur, her silver armor a dark blur as she was fighting freely now. His head drooped, and he became aware of little red dots on olive drab. Dots that seemed to grow.

And then he became aware of the ground rushing towards his face.

----

Returning to consciousness was something that Klightus almost didn't want to do. The throbbing of his head was enough to make him wish he'd stayed out. As he tried to keep it from exploding, he realized something rather important, important enough to make him push the pain aside.

He wasn't wearing his helmet.

In fact, his armor and his gear was all gone. He sat up, looking around in brief glances, as much as he could with the throbbing. He seemed to be in some sort of cell. No, that couldn't be right. The last thing he remembered...

The cultists. His hand went to his face, wiping at it. Dried blood under his nose, on his cheeks, his ears. Whatever they'd done had worked a number on him. He let himself fall back, trying to figure something, anything out.

Unfortunately, though, the more that his head cleared the more that panic gripped him. He'd been captured.
>I won't pay your ransom again.
Captured by the enemy. Cultists. His breathing was shallow and fast as his eyes darted about.
>Why don't we have some fun before the Thrones show up?
He looked down to see that he was scratching at his arm hard enough to draw blood. Blood. Under his fingernails. 

Klightus curled into a ball, shaking. He gripped his hands so that he wouldn't accidentally hurt himself further. No. No, this couldn't be happening. He didn't want to die like this. Not for some twisted cultist's pleasure. Not as a blood sacrifice to their foul gods.

Terror gripped his heart as he heard the cell door open, forcing him to curl up even tighter. Hands roughly grabbed his arms, eliciting a squeak of fear as the hauled him to his feet, dragging him down the halls. Down stairs. And finally, through a door.

What he saw there turned his blood to ice.

There were four of them, counting the ones who held him in place. The entire room was lit up brightly, the signs of some foul false god adorning the room. A long table was set up, adorned with candles and far too much dark red liquid. Beyond it was the one that he guessed was the leader, who smiled evilly. But it was behind him was a sight that knocked the wind right out of Klightus.

White hair.

Her head was lowered down against her chest, and thick blood stained her armor. She'd been strung up for all to see, her arms spread wide. He could take in every scratch, every dent in her armor, the knife strapped to her leg, but he couldn't see the wound that felled her. Horror crossed his face, and his entire body began to shake.

Amaia. Bethany. Amaia. Bethany. Bethany... Bethany...

"Good," the leader said warmly. "You are awake! I must apologize for the accommodations we left you in. Inhospitable, I know, but we were afraid that you'd run. I must say, we've been waiting for you for quite some time. Ever since the Adepta Sororitas landed on the planet, as a matter of fact. It's good to finally meet you in person... Klightus, isn't it? A right name, one that rolls off the tongue. It inspires courage, strength, and nobility. In fact, I'm even told that you are a noble! A very fitting name for a fine man such as yourself, hmm?

"Now, I'm sure that you're wondering why I'm taking the time to speak to you instead of strapping you to that table, yes? Of course you are. You see, as I said, we were expecting you. After we liberated this planet, the great God of Secrets spoke to us, oh yes. He sent us visions personally. He told of the one who would walk with the Sisters, and how we would... teach him. Uplift him from the lowly chains that drug him down, the oppression of the narrow-minded Imperium. We were told that he would bring this world into the very annals of history, and lead us to another world to turn into a perfect utopia... for us, the faithful. We weren't told how he would play a role in this, just that he would. For the faithful, that is enough. And you, my dear Klightus, are that man."

Klightus's eyes burned, and his head swam.

The cultist paused, looking at Klightus for a long moment before following his gaze. "Oh. Her." He laughed softly, then took a sympathetic tone to his voice. "I know, I know. It must be a shock to you. But you must remember, they are only human. Such closed minded fools. They know not the glory of our work. Ah, but you will. You will. In fact, I dare say, I was saving her for you, so that you might spill her blood yourself. Sadly, she just would not. Shut. Up!" He took a breath to calm himself. "Ah, but she did have something else that you will enjoy. Yes. The woman carried with her the bones of... Oh, I don't know. Some old saint of some sort or another. While we may not be able to allow you the gift of rending her from this life, we at least left you those to desecrate. We don't want to be anything less than gracious hosts, after all."

The leader turned to face... her... spreading his arms wide. He had a certain glibness in his voice as he spoke. "I know that you may resist at first, but some day, you will look back and see this as-"

Klightus' knee raised, and his foot came down as hard as it could on the instep of the man holding his arm. The grip loosened, allowing him to wrench it free in one firm tug, the same tug that brought his fist into the throat of the other guard. Quickly he jerked his arm back, bringing the sharp point of his elbow into the nose of the first with a satisfying crunch. The leader was just turning around as he took a step forward, lashing out with his foot to upend the table into the leader's gullet. "The Emperor is our guiding light, a beacon of hope for humanity in a galaxy of darkness!"

He pivoted, beginning a short mad dash. His shoulder fell, meeting the third cultist in the solar plexus as he plowed ahead. "As we serve Him, He is our greatest servant!" The cultist fell, and Klightus changed his direction again, shouldering the leader out of his way. "As we pray to Him..."

"Get him!" somebody yelled.

"His thoughts are only for us!" There wasn't a plan, per se. Just righteous rage. But the body knew better than he did, how to apply that rage which had built up. He made it to... her... and drew the knife from her boot. Spinning around, he barely noticed the cultist reaching for him before the knife sunk home, just under the armpit, deep into the chest, into the lung.

Another was upon him almost immediately. The blade lashed out, this time higher, both hands on it to drive it home into the eye socket with all his might. But still the fools came, rushing to their own doom. Klightus lashed out with a quick slash, only for his arm to be blocked. The blade spun in his hand to a new grip, his arms moved of their own accord as he struggled. It was a brief struggle, though, until he drove the knife upwards underneath the cultist's chin.

"And in the Dark when the Shadows threaten, the Emperor is with us, in Spirit and in Fact!" He shoved the gurgling body away, looking around frantically. Only one left, if he didn't escape. The leader. No, the cultist was still there, but he was retrieving a sword. Sword against combat knife. Not good.

The two spent a moment staring at each other before charging in unison. There were no word, just screams of rage. The sword raised, and Klightus dropped into a slide, impacting hard with the cultist's legs. Somehow, the knife came free from his hand, scraping across the floor. The cultist didn't lose his grip, though.

Klightus latched on and the two began to struggle. Rolling on the floor, the cultist had a marked advantage -- his strength was superior, granted to him by his foul god. But Klightus had the Emperor's wrath within him... and better flexibility. A childhood of his brothers picking on him helped as well.

He rolled the cultist onto his back, hands on wrists, and slammed his head into the cultist's nose. That lessened the unholy strength. And it felt... good. "Burn the Heretic!" He slammed his head home again. "Kill the Mutant!" His head came down again. "Purge the Unclean!" Again and again, his head impacted with the cultist's face. Each time, he pulled back a little farther, putting more force into the strike. Finally, the fight had fled from the heretic completely.

Unfortunately, the divine wrath and adrenaline were waning in Klightus as well. He rolled off the prone form, sprawling onto the floor. His arm reached blindly, searching. A slight pain in his finger told him he'd found what he was looking for. Grasping it, he forced himself back onto his knees, plunging the knife deep into the cultist's chest. Panting heavily, he crawled back to the other cultist still breathing. Half-breathing, gasping for air from a punctured lung. It wasn't mercy that granted the killing blow, but hate.

Only then, with his enemies dead, did Klightus allow himself a few minutes of respite. To catch his breath. To allow his mind to return to him.

He became aware of a stinging pain in his collar. Looking, he realized that the sword must have hit him, just enough to make him bleed. He pressed his hand against it, letting his head drop, but there was nothing he could do at the moment.

At least, for himself.

His strength returning, his eyes fell upon her. The blasphemers had killed her. He pushed himself off his knees and onto his feet. "I'm sorry," he said weakly. "I'm s-so sorry I f-failed you." Gently, tenderly he pushed her head up to look into her face, her open brown eyes... Julianne's eyes.

He let out a puff of breath, his eyes watering. He didn't know why, but somehow he'd gotten it into his head that this was Sister Bethany. Or Sister Amaia. A guilty joy flooded through him. He was happy that he had not lost Bethany, or that she had not lost her twin, but at the same time... He was feeling joy over the death of a Sister. Emperor preserve him from taint.

Klightus worked at the binding holding her body against the wall. Several times he cut his hands, but ignored it. A punishment from the Emperor for what he had felt. When the last of them gave free, she fell to the ground, his own strength unable to support both her and her armor.

On her back, the sword was still there.

The saber, and the sheath, had once been sealed closed and affixed to her armor. No wonder they had left them to her -- they couldn't get it off. But now that seal had cracked free. Klightus pulled once, his arms screaming at the resistance, but it came free. The seal holding the blade in the sheath crumbled beneath his hands. A sign from the Emperor, if any.

He pulled the blade free. Etched along it were the tales of a noble house, and of one noble in particular. This man, he guessed, was her father. The one who had not claimed her. If Klightus had to guess, the man had left her his power saber when he died for some unknown reason. There were questions that begged answers, but now wasn't the time.

Sheathing the sword, Klightus rolled Sister Julianne back over, looking down into her sightless eyes. She looked weathered, yes, but not the kind that comes with age. He could see that now. It was the kind of weathering that a veteran wears. Truth be told, once you looked past the weathering, she didn't seem that old at all. Perhaps as old as Bethany or Amaia.

"Sleep," Klightus said softly, closing her eyes. "Know that you have g-given m-me the power to do what m-must be done. I will s-see you back safely to the S-Sisters. This I swear."

In the corner of the room was a greatcoat that must have belonged to a Guardsman, stained in blood. The symbols of the Guard and the Holy Emperor were still upon it, undefiled. Klightus drew the blade again, taking the coat into his left hand and holding it high to his side. His eyes closed as he remembered his lessons, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet and assuming a proper stance. A few practice swings, parry, riposte, lunge.

His eyes opened, the skills not lost, and he made his way out of the room, searching.

Three cultists showed that Klightus was rusty, but he was managing. Skills came back quickly when it was do or die time. But now he was paused by a door. The opaque window was marked with the symbol of the Arbites, the word "Evidence" printed underneath. That explained where he was. He opened the door.

Inside, the gear of countless Guardsmen was stashed haphazardly. Packs thrown in, lying on the floor. His eyes spied his and one other thing that caught his interest. A wooden box with a clear glass front. Inside rested skeletal remains.

This had belonged to Sister Julianne.

Klightus moved in quickly, searching through the gear. It took him a few minutes, but he found his own pack and webbing. With shaking hands he opened the pack, dumping the contents on the floor. It was there that another sight amazed him.

A melta pistol, emblazoned with the fluer de lys. His mind worked back, remembering what Amaia had said to him. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but it still brought a smile to his face. He wasn't going to bother with the greatcoat any more. Now he had a ranged weapon, too. And the opportunity to quickly tend to his shoulder.

With delicate care, he placed the box containing the saint's remains (Saint Valmir Vincencius according to the box, though the name was lost to him) inside before donning his gear. There were no weapons, but still...

Feeling stronger and infinitely more confident with the saint's remains and a ranged weapon to compliment the blade, Klightus continued on.

Soon, a stairwell greeted him. His ears pricked at the sounds below -- angry voices. Creeping silently, he made his way down, hugging the wall as best he could.

The sight below him was of another holding area. Unlike the one he had been in, these cells were full. Full of Guardsmen. Klightus could only count five cultists in the area, including two guarding the stairwell, their backs to him. Good enough. He waited until he was close enough to hear their breathing before activating the power saber, two quick slashes ending their miserable lives.

"What the-"

He didn't wait for the cultist to finish her curse. With a scream, he charged, the melta lifted up to fire. The battle was a quick one -- the cultists were only armed with stun batons -- but the entire time the Guardsmen yelled and cheered their encouragement.

As the last cultist fell, a cheer rose from the cells. Klightus turned to look at them, panting. Immediately, one voice rang out above the others. "You there! You're not with them, and that's good enough for me! Let us out!"

Klightus approached the cell slowly, eying the man. "Who a-are you?"

"I could ask the same thing." The man was scarred, and held a stony look on his face. "Sergeant Henroth Draken, Kirol Ninth. The bastards dropped a level of the city and trapped us. Used some sort of sorcery to knock us all out. When we woke up, they... They've been sacrificing us, I think. A few at a time."

"Klightus G-Gramon, Guardsman, Field Medicae. Jingur Third Regiment. I'm the l-liaison with the Adepta Sororitas."

"That explains the melta." Somehow, that made Klightus more self-conscious. "Let us out. We'd like some payback. You found our gear?"

Klightus pressed the button to open the cell door. "N-no weapons, but I found the rest. P-probably gave out the weapons." He paused for a moment. "I'll show y-you where, but then I need your help in t-transporting a tier-one asset to the Adepta S-Sororitas."

It didn't take long for them to get back to the sacrificial chamber. The men were obviously eying him, especially his sword and melta. Klightus tried not to think about it too much, lest his chest seize up. He was shaking from their scrutiny enough already. As they collected Sister Julianne's body, he noticed something in her ear. A vox bead. With great care he took it from her ear, putting it in his own.

"This is K-Klightus of the Jignur Third t-to Sororitas One. D-do you copy, over." Nothing but static was his response. He stepped closer to Julianne and tried again. "This is K-Klightus of the Jignur Third t-to Sororitas One. D-do you copy? Please r-r-respond, over."

"Klightus?" Sister Superior Cordelia's voice crackled, carried by the vox bead's machine spirit. "I can barely hear you. Where are you?"

That's right, they didn't use proper communication protocols. "Arbites holding area. I've g-g-got some of the Kirol N-Ninth with me."

"And Sister Julianne?"

He was silent for a long moment. "We've s-secured her r-remains," he said sadly, looking at her face as four Guardsmen lifted her body.

"And the Simulacrum Imperialis?"

"S-secured. It h-hasn't been defiled." He paused a beat. "Where are you?"

"The Courtyard of the Emperor's Light."

He looked to Sergeant Henroth. "C-Courtyard of the Emperor's Light?"

The Sergeant nodded. "That was one of our primary objectives. I know where it is."

He nodded, putting his hand to the bead again. "We are s-securing transport and will meet you there."

"May the Emperor grant you speed, Klightus. We're looking at some heavy fighting."

"Ave Imperator." May the Emperor's light shine upon them all.

The Courtyard of the Emperor's Light was a courtyard, true. But it ran straight up, granting a clear view of the sky high above. As the truck pulled to a stop, Klightus' tailbone tingled. He didn't even want to think about falling from the top. Scaffolding stood on the sides, apparently for workers to carve out symbols to the intricate stylization out of the stone.

Even more worrying was what was on the opposite expanse of the giant courtyard. He could see the dots that were the collective forces of the heretics. They were probably amassing for a final push to try and destroy the loyalist forces.

As he jumped out of the back of the truck, Sister Quintilla approached. "Klightus! Praise the Emperor, you're still alive."

He gave her the sign of the aquila. "H-how long was I gone?"

"One day, four hours, eight minutes, forty-seven seconds since we lost contact with you until your boots hit the ground." He blinked at her, and she grinned impishly. "I keep track of time. You'd be surprised how often it comes in handy." She paused, her smile fading. "Sister Julianne?"

He moved to the back of the now-evacuated truck, opening it. Sister Quintilla began to say a soft prayer as she collected her Sister's remains. Even with her power armor, she was straining. As much as Klightus wanted to help, somehow, he found himself hovering next to her, wringing his hands uselessly.

At least, until they approached Sister Superior Cordelia. Immediately he found himself on one knee, his hands folding the aquila over his chest. "Thank you for returning Sister Julianne's remains to us, Klightus." She sounded... depressed, saddened over the loss. "And the Simulacrum Imperialis?"

He removed his pack, opening it to present the saint's remains to her. She removed the box containing them slowly, smiling when she saw that it was still without taint. "Thank you, Klightus. Though others may doubt, I will defend your honor and your purity. Truly, you are one of the faithful." She nodded to him. "Now, I must prepare."

As she turned away, Klightus made his way to his feet, putting his pack back on. It didn't feel right to be without it. When he turned, he found Sister Amaia staring at him. Immediately, he saluted her with the aquila... and then hugged her. "Thank y-y-you."

There was a long awkward moment before she pulled herself away, staring at him in confusion. "For what?"

Klightus felt himself blushing as he found something interesting on his boot to stare at. "F-for a moment, I thought... I thought that you had died. I know that y-you and Sister Bethany... I knew that if you had d-died, it would have wounded her g-greatly. The thought of h-her being wounded so... It scared me. I can't..."

"And what about you?" she asked angrily. "If you'd died it would have hurt her, too! If she feels about you the way that... Why did you do something so stupid?"

That was a good question, wasn't it? Her anger made him recoil a little, but she did deserve an answer. "B-because I love the Emperor, too. He p-protects our spirits and guides us. Above all else, even l-l-love, I m-must perform my duties t-to Him and the Imperium of Man first and f-foremost."

There was a long moment of silence that chewed Klightus apart on the inside. Finally, Sister Amaia turned and stalked away. He let out a long breath, his head hanging.

A hand on his shoulder startled him. "Relax," Sister Nyze said. "You're only mostly screwed."

How comforting. "Is there anything I-I should know?"

"Hmm." She crossed her arms, looking across the courtyard. "Things aren't looking the best. We're best up close and personal, but you guardsmen aren't. They heretics are looking to make a charge, we think. So we're going to have to either meet them halfway, where they can flank us easily, or wait for them to reach our line. That won't be any better, because it will reduce the effectiveness of the Guardsmen. Reinforcements are on the way, but the only ones who might get here before the fighting starts are the two Seraphim squads.

"The Rhino's still operational, but that can only help so much against those number. By the Throne, they should have sent two regiments. Still, with the Simulacrum Imperialis, that relieves a lot from our minds."

Klightus bit his lip, his mind whirling. But Sister Nyze patted his shoulder ruefully. "I'd better get back up front."

He watched in silence as he could see the mass of heretics across the wide expanse growing. He didn't even register Sister Plath tending to his shoulder with care. They'd hit critical mass soon. As soon as the enemy would hit critical mass, they'd charge. By the Throne, he didn't like that. Something. There had to be something they could do...

"Choke point," he muttered to himself.

"Pardon?" Sister Plath asked.

He looked to her for a moment before brushing away her hands. "I'm g-going to create a choke point," he said quickly as he put his pack back on. "Or at least s-something to slow them down. That way, the S-Sisters can move closer, and still keep the Guardsmen at range." He made sure that the sword was secure against him, nodded to Sister Plath, then sprinted for the front lines. And then past them.

"Klightus!" Sister Amaia's voice was carried by the machine spirit in his ear. "What are you doing?"

He didn't respond. Instead, he ran straight for the scaffolding. A quick glance revealed that the assembly as mounted to the wall, probably to keep it from toppling. Fair enough. He had an easy fix for that -- namely, a quick pull of the trigger on the melta that reduced the mounting to slag. Five per level, with mountings every other level. Six sets of mountings in all. Quick work, really.

As he began to climb to the second, and then the third level of the scaffolding, the heretics began taking shots at him. From that rage, they were wide, but enough to encourage faster movement. Oh, how he wished that he'd been able to find his armor...

Two mountings down of the third set, and the scaffolding shook. He turned quickly, the melta brought to bear, revealing a pair of ice blue eyes and a concerned face staring at him. He took a sharp breath as Bethany stepped towards him, a look of confusion on her face.

No time to explain. Verbally, at least. He pointed at the mounting, then shot it until it melted free. He held his hand vertically, then slowly tipped it horizontally. Bethany seemed to get that, drawing her weapon. Quickly, Klightus shook his head, pointing to the other set of scaffolding across the courtyard. She nodded, understanding his intentions perfectly. She turned, activated her pack, and shot across the courtyard to leave Klightus to his work.

As he worked, he could hear her weapons firing. Excellent. The third set freed, the fourth, the fifth... He was working on the last set of mountings when he heard the whine of Bethany's jump pack. Glancing back, he saw the other scaffolding toppling over... By the Emperor's grace, it stayed together as it landed on the ground. Between the two of them, the final mountings were freed from the wall. At this height, all it took was one push to make it wobble, and a little more to make it slowly tip.

As gravity began to do its job, Klightus remembered the downside to this plan -- he was on top. He looked to Bethany, fear filling his face. She, in turn, grabbed his pack straps and fired her pack. There was a moment of near weightlessness as they dropped, but her pack wasn't designed to carry two people. They landed, hard, sending them both sprawling onto the ground. But despite the scrape on his arm, they were alive. The choke point might not have been very tight, but it was still something.

As they ran back towards the line, he saw the squad of Celestians loading up into the Rhino. Klightus found himself smiling. There was the possibility of winning this now...

----

Tiny white flakes fell from the sky. The temperature was dropping now, forcing Klightus to huddle into his greatcoat. Here, on top of the hill, the wind cut to the bone, chilling a man through and through. But he wouldn't move. Not now. Not with what was ahead of him.

The snow wasn't bad yet, but it was going to be. Oddly fitting, he thought to himself. His eyes were focused on the field below, watching as another squad marched out upon it. Next to him, Bethany reached out to put her hand on his knee, but he couldn't pull his eyes away from his responsibility.

He didn't know how long they'd been sitting there like this. Sister Quintilla could tell him, but she wasn't here. He wasn't even sure if he could find the words right now.

"Bethany?" Amaia's voice was soft, somewhere to his right. "May I speak to Klightus alone for a moment? Just a moment. I..."

Bethany's hand left his leg reluctantly. He could hear her stepping away, and Amaia approaching. Just like he could hear another squad march out onto that field.

"Klightus," Amaia said as she settled down. "We've received word back from Departmento Munitorum. They've approved your position with our Order as Liaison. Officially, you're still a Guardsman, but you will move with us." She paused for a moment. "It's also earned you promotions. Congratulations, you're an officer." She sounded like she expected him to respond.

Sadly, he was forced to disappoint.

"I... am not sure how to say this. I'm sorry. I allowed my judgment to be... clouded." She paused for a moment, sitting next to him. "For as long as I can remember, Bethany and I have been equal in everything. Though I a Celestian and she a Seraphim, we have always been equal. The biggest difference was her vision, after which she said nothing. But..."

Another squad marched onto the field.

"When she returned with you, she was different. She had found a happiness that I... I suppose I was jealous. So I hung to the belief that you weren't pure, that you had bewitched her somehow. When that failed, I held to the belief that you would put her before duty, or the other way around. That the Emperor would not be first in her eyes. Now I see the truth. The both of you put your duty to the Emperor before your own... happiness."

There was silence for a long moment before she spoke again. "I suppose that the only thing which I might be able to say is that you have my blessing. Though, admittedly, I have not yet been able to rid myself of the jealousy."

The silence seemed to stretch to infinity. Soon, though, Bethany's arm was around his shoulders as she sat with him, Amaia on the other side. Together they watched the field in silence.

Happiness comes at a cost. You must perform your duty, endure pain and hardship, and sacrifice. Klightus knew this. And, as the Sisters activated their flamers and purified another squad of the Jignur Third Regiment, he knew exactly the weight that his happiness would bear upon his shoulders for the rest of his life.

And yet, as he gently rested his head against Bethany's, he still wouldn't give up that happiness to be rid of this weight.