The Times and Trials of Klightus

The following article is a /tg/ related story or fanfic. Should you continue, expect to find tl;dr and an occasional amount of awesome.

Otherwise known as The Shy Guardsman on sup/tg/. The story of the Guardsman Klightus and Sister Bethany.

Storytime

First Story

There are a few reasons why a noble family sent one of their number to join the guard. Most frequently it was so that they could come back a hero, raising the family's status.

Sadly, in Klightus' case, it was the exact opposite.

He'd never been good at the political game. He'd been captured by scum twice by the age of ten, and according to his father, he just didn't "get" it. After the third time, his father threatened to not pay the ransom next time. That was enough to keep him at home from then on. No, he was sent to the guard in hopes that he'd die. Maybe a glorious death, maybe one that would leave his family proud. But they just hoped he died quietly. That would be enough.

So far, he'd failed them in that, too. He'd been accident prone as a child -- he'd grown tall, and that height had left him awkward for many years. He'd spent a lot of time with the family's chirugen, and had picked up a lot. Now, he served the Medicae. While, true, he served in the field, so far he'd been spared front-line combat for the most part.

Most of the time. This wasn't one of those times.

"Klightus! Where in the Emperor's name are you?"

"On m-my way!" He fell into a sprint, shrapnel kicking up dust that stung the eyes. He paused behind the cover of a tree, firing off a couple of shots at the traitor scum. Needed to clear his path. Needed to get to the wounded. He needed... A glance revealed a traitor Russ drawing bead on his location. Klightus wasn't sure if he should be honored or insulted that they felt to use that much overkill on him. Either way, he needed to move. It didn't take much to convince him to sprint again.

The tree exploded, throwing him off his feet. For a long time, there was only a high-pitched whine and a throbbing inside Klightus' head. Distantly, he became aware of a pain in his bicep. A shard of wood. Without thinking, he pulled it out. That's when he really noticed the pain. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to dwell on it.

"Klightus, if you don't get your ass over here RIGHT NOW, I swear I'll send you to the Emperor myself!"

Finally, he found the two soldiers in question. Their cover wasn't good, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that one of them was lying on the ground. Klightus fell to his knees next to the conscript. He'd taken shrapnel to the face -- the man could be saved, but the eye couldn't. Better to take it out and get the guy shooting again than grant him the Emperor's Benediction.

He'd just worked the biggest shard of shrapnel free when the cover started to get peppered. Klightus snatched up his lasrifle and glanced. A group of them were making a charge. Damn traitors. With the sudden odd high-pitched whine in the air, he could barely think. Gritting his teeth, he took aim and fired...

Only for the traitor to explode. Klightus blinked and looked down at his lasrifle. That... shouldn't have caused that...

It was then that SHE landed. Right next to him. If his sphincter hadn't of been the size of purely theoretical particles before, it was now. She looked down at him, one of her ice blue eyes hidden behind her white hair. A quick look to the injured conscript, and she returned her attention to the advancing traitors, her bolter blazing into life again.

Klightus didn't need any more of an order. He spared one more shot downrange, only scoring a glancing blow, before returning his attention to getting the soldier back up and firing.

It was an hour later before the battle was done. Klightus limped back across the battlefield, clutching his arm. Every step sent fire up his leg and into his back. He'd twisted his ankle at some point -- at least, he hoped that he'd twisted it. He was afraid to check. He shouldered his rifle and bent down to pick up his helmet. He wasn't going to get flogged for losing it. Again. It wasn't until he pushed himself back up, grimacing the entire way, that he realized that one of the Sisters was standing in front of him.

He pushed his eyes slowly up to her face. Ice blue eyes. White hair. Now he could see the fleur-de-lis on her cheek. He tried not to grimace as he made the sign of the aquila over his chest -- his arm might have been bandaged, but it still hurt like hell. "Th-thank you, s-s-sister, for your assistance in ensuring the Emperor's will... be done this day." There was a long moment before she nodded once, letting him drop his arms.

"You are bleeding," she said softly.

"Oh?" Was he? It took a moment before he remembered his arm. "Oh, this? I-I-I... It's nothing. It shouldn't be... um... infected or anything. I've t-treated it and said the litanies to-"

"Not that," she said, sounding a touch amused. A gauntlet pointed down at his leg.

And the piece of steel jutting out of it. That made him wonder -- was it the ankle that was causing him all the pain, or the shrapnel. His face began to feel as if a thousand pins were prickling it. "Oh, fiddle-dee-dee," he said, his voice breaking. "That will require a Tetanus shot."

With that, his world went black.

---

In retrospect, it was kind of funny that pain wasn't the first thing he noticed. Not that there wasn't a lot of it. Instead, it was the incense. But his eyes didn't want to open. The cot was warm. His body felt like lead. Lead and pain, but lead none the less. Nothing wanted to move. Nothing wanted to work.

But the incense made him force his eyes open. Medicae didn't burn incense. Nor did Medicae tents have that kind of roof, really. He forced his eyes down only to see... a statue. Saint... he couldn't remember her name offhand. A warrior hospitaller. Yes, he knew her. That, as well as sheets finer than anything he'd ever had as a Guardsman, told him that he wasn't with Medicae right now.

Klightus pushed aside the sheets, looking down at himself. Bruising, yes. To be expected. But it had already started healing nicely. His leg and arm were bandaged, as well as his ankle. From the looks of it, even the minor lacerations had been attended to. He... wasn't going to argue. With a wince, he quietly made his way out of the cot, kneeling before the statue. If this saint had watched over him while he was unconscious, then the least that he could do was give her proper thanks. Even if the fact that he was only in his undergarments made his skin stand.

"You are awake."

The voice made him jump, turning quickly to look at the source. Bad idea -- it made him woozy, seeing double. No, not double. There was only one of everything in the room, save for the two sisters before him. Two pairs of ice eyes stared down at him. Almost completely identical, save for a small scar on one's cheek.

"Careful," said the one. "You have been unconscious for some time. You lost quite a bit of blood. We feared that we might have to send you to His loving embrace."

Well, it looked like he'd failed his family again. Shame tinged his cheeks, even as he tried to deny that small point of pride deep inside.

The one who spoke turned to the other. "Tell Sister Superior." The other nodded and left the grand tent. It all felt so surreal.

But there were things that needed addressed. Looking up from his position on the ground, he forced words to his lips. "H-h-how b-bad was it?"

"Three days. Sister Bethany was forced to hand feed you. When the fever came, she tended to that as well. We would like to keep you for a few more days." The air was heavy with unsaid words. She looked away from him, back to the statue. "Your commander has demanded we return you to him as soon as you awoke. He was not pleased when I brought you here, but there was little that he could do. Keeping you here, however..."

Klightus found himself blushing as he looked away. "I th-thank you for your divine kindness, as well as your d-divine wrath against the enemies of the Emperor."

"You may regret those words." He looked back up to her. Her face was hard. "Sister Bethany will escort you back to your regiment. I believe your commander seeks to put you directly back into harm's way." She must have seen his wince. "This, most certainly, will kill you. However, Sister Superior has informed me that all of the transports are either in use or in need of repairs. I'm afraid that it will be a long trip."

Klightus was never good at politics, but even he could see what was going on. The commander had found a way to force their hand. Who knew how, but they were were disobeying by complying. By following the letter of the orders, they had bought him time to help recuperate. His ears felt warm.

Which left when the tent opened, letting in another blast of cool air. The other sister, Bethany he supposed, had returned, carrying his gear. His pack looked so very empty. With even, graceful movements, she placed it on his cot. A moment later, she made her exit again. To don her armor, he supposed.

"I expect to see my sister returned after she presents you," the more talkative sister declared.

That threat was read loud and clear. From his kneeling position, he made the sign of the aquila to her. "The Emperor's will b-be done."

The two of them stayed there for several long moments, neither moving. She expected him to stand. There was no way that he was going to do that with her there. Perhaps she sensed his discomfort, perhaps she grew tired of waiting, but regardless, she bowed her head to him and left him to change.

Not for the first time in his life, and he doubted it would be the last, Klightus silently cursed his body.

He took his time getting changed, out of stiffness rather than... anything else. By the time he left the tent, the sister was standing outside awaiting him in her armor, her bolter carried at ease. "S-Sister Bethany?" She nodded to him, her eyes closing slightly. Okay, this was kind of awkward. "I was t-told that you would... You would be escorting me?"

As if to answer, she retrieved a crutch, offering it to him. Great. They were walking. To Emperor only knew where. This might take a while...

---

The going was both boring and entertaining. His escort wasn't the talkative type, but... He had to admit, there was something about the cut of her armor... It also didn't help with her height. He was the tallest purestrain human in the regiment, but she... Perhaps it was the armor, but she came very close to looking him in the eye. That alone was enough to keep him somewhat distracted from the pain.

For every two hours they marched, they rested for fifteen minutes. She would come and look him over critically -- probably ensuring that he wasn't about to fall over. Each time, she presented him with a little bit of food, water, and painkillers. Which was both a good thing and a bad thing. By the fourth stop, Klightus wasn't feeling any pain, but he was also feeling rather woozy.

Perhaps she sensed this. Her ice blue eyes narrowed this time as she watched him, a slight frown on her face. Wordlessly, she wrapped an arm around him and guided him over to a tree. She didn't speak, but it didn't take much urging to get him to sit and rest against it. He smiled up at her to thank her, but already Sister Bethany was walking away, collecting twigs.

His eyes opened to find a fire going, the only thing keeping darkness from invading their small makeshift camp. He found a blanket wrapped around him. Honestly, he didn't remember falling asleep. He blinked twice, looking around. Her silver hair was the main thing that gave Bethany's position away next to the fire. With a smile, she brought him a bowl of some sort of stew. He tried to thank her again, but his throat felt thick and dry.

A few mouthfuls to ease the gnawing of his stomach gave him a little courage. "Sister B-Bethany? I..." She tilted her head curiously, the light from the fire playing on her face. "I don't... know what I did to deserve you treating me like this, but..." He swallowed hard. "I just wanted... to say thank you. I feel like I don't... deserve hospitality such as this. I'm just-"

She crossed the short distance between them. Somehow, Klightus found himself extremely aware of just exactly how close she was to him. An even expression on her face, she took both his hands, forcing one to take a spoonful of stew and putting it into his mouth. That... pretty much said it all. Shut up and eat. Blushing, he swallowed and looked back down to the simple silver bowl. With a nod, she settled next to him against the tree, taking up her bolter and pointing it into the darkness.

He didn't remember falling asleep again, but he did awaken briefly during the night. His neck hurt, and his cheek felt pierced. Opening his eye, Klightus found out why -- in his sleep, his head had found its way onto her shoulder. His eyes closed again, thinking that he should move.

Thinking was as far as he got.

It was subtle motion that woke Klightus up. The slight movement of the head caused by what it was resting on moving. He forced his eyes open, only to be greeted by a pair of ice blue.

Oh. Right.

He jerked his head away and found himself blushing all the way up to his ears. "Sorry, I-I..." He glanced at her and found her to be smirking ever so slightly at him. Somehow, he didn't feel insulted by it. She made her way to her feet, stretching, before she brought herself down to a kneel. Ah, right. Morning prayers. He should have known. Heck, she'd probably been holding off on them to let him sleep. That was... awfully nice of her. Almost...

He quickly pushed the thought out of his head as he forced his own body to move. Nothing more than the after effects of drugs, he told himself. And, no matter how much he wanted to believe it might be otherwise, he couldn't. She wasn't...

Right, stop that line of thought right there. Now that his neck simply hurt instead of feeling like it was going to snap off, he settled down himself for prayer. A prayer to the Emperor's grace, for seeing Klightus to safety and continued life, for gifting him with one of His blessed daughters, for His continued protection against danger both without and within.

It felt odd to pray in silence, but somehow he felt that it was better this way -- it didn't feel right to say them out loud if she was praying so quietly.

After an eternity of the only sound belonging to the forest around them, him singing all the mental praises and recanting every appropriate litany that he could think of in his head, she finally moved. He didn't feel right ending his prayers before she did. With this reprieve, he pulled himself up to his feet to wander off to the bushes.

The privacy wasn't just to relieve himself. Though the tear in his pants granted him the ability to see the bandage on his leg, he couldn't check the wound. Now, however, he could. They'd done a good job of taking care of him, but they'd stitched it up fairly soon. Frowning, he pushed at the sides, watching the opaque liquid seep out between the stitches. He would have preferred to keep it open a couple of days to keep infection from setting in. Still, he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

With a sigh, he washed it off with water from his canteen before re-bandaging his leg. His ankle hurt, but that was a secondary concern now. His arm, however, looked like they'd had to dig in it. That wasn't surprising, considering that wood shrapnel had caused the wound. Had to get all the pieces out. After a moment's pause, he re-bandaged it. Best not to dwell, right?

---

Back at "camp," Sister Bethany had gotten the fire restarted. He had to wonder, did she sneak off to relieve herself... Yes, best not to think. Not while his neck was still stiff and the side of his face still hurt from resting on her. She looked up at him as he approached, a hint of a smile on her lips. Enough to make a man's chest feel tight.

"I j-just wanted to thank you again for..." She stood in one fluid motion, holding the bowl out to him again. Right. Klightus could figure out the total meaning. Quit thanking me, she was saying. Fair enough. He could focus on food for a bit. Leftovers from the previous night's meal, but he could live with that. Especially since he was finding that they had much better rations than the Guard did.

The star this planet orbited was threatening to set. Klightus' leg felt like it was on fire. He wasn't sure which hurt more, the ankle or the wound. Soon, though, they'd camp. He'd put his leg up and maybe sleep some more. That was always what he prescribed when a patient had a wound like his. Elevation and sleep. He kept going over facts like this in his head, more to take his mind off the pain than the woman leading the way.

Which only made it that more abrupt when she suddenly stopped. Her posture changed from purposeful to guarded -- that told him everything. His free hand gripped his lasrifle. He'd let go of the crutch if they came under attack, but for now he wanted to see what she saw.

He wished he hadn't. The scene of carnage in front of him was something that nobody truly wished to see. It looked like a camp of Guardsmen had been attacked. Probably a checkpoint in the supply route. It wasn't until he noticed one of the banners that he truly came to regret the sight.

As quickly as his leg would allow he moved to the first Guardsman he could find, rolling the body over. It had already become stiff and had started to rot. But the laurels were what Klightus was looking for.

"Thank the Emperor," he sighed under his breath. He looked up to Sister Bethany. "This is the Fifth. I was w-worried that it was the Third for a moment. I..."

"KILL THE SERVANTS OF THE IMPERIUM!"

There it was. That brief moment of panic whenever he was suddenly presented with combat. His head snapped up to the source of the voice; a group of the traitors were running out from the cover of a tipped cargo transport. They had lasrifles. They'd looted the bodies for their lasrifles. His mind was still reeling from that revelation when there was the sound of an explosion next to Klightus. Almost immediately, one of the renegades exploded.

Seems that Sister Bethany didn't have that moment of panic. Which was enough to break him out of his reprieve. He lifted his rifle, shouting the Litany of the Lasgun and firing. Almost immediately, however, Sister Bethany occupied half of his field of vision as she stepped in front of him. She was protecting him, putting herself between him and harm's way.

Well, bugger to that. Klightus might have been Medicae, but he was a Guardsman, and every Guardsman was a rifleman. Dammit, he was not going to let anybody die for him. The Litany of War poured from his lips as he took aim again. The Oath of Vengeance was screamed as the enemy charged. The Death Incantation spat out of his mouth, leaving his throat raw. He might die today, but by the Throne, he was not going to let go without a fight.

He was halfway through the Litany of Accuracy (surprise attacks never left one with time to prepare the litanies properly) when he noticed something landing nearby. It wasn't thought which propelled him, but instead instinct which slammed his body into Sister Bethany's hard armor, bringing them both to the ground a hair before the grenade went off.

The world was eerily silent for a moment, though that faded to a persistent ringing in the ears. As much as Klightus wanted to contemplate how long that ringing might last, they were still being shot at. Virtually being thrown off of the Sister didn't help matters any.

Klightus glanced around and saw two things. The first was a chimera that had somehow been destroyed. (If this group needed to scavenge weapons, how did they do that?) The second was the corpse next to it. It didn't take long for a plan to form.

Sister Bethany had already raised to a crouching position, her bolter firing. For as loud as it was, she was oddly silent, a look a pure wrath on her face. Good enough for him. He forced himself to his feet, slapping her shoulder and pointing at the Chimera. "Cover," he yelled before running towards it as best he could. His leg did not want to work at all.

Moments later, Bethany made a controlled retreat behind the Chimera. She used the cover well, at least, peeking out to fire controlled shots, each one hitting their mark. How many of these guys were there?

Klightus, though, had other concerns. Namely, the corpse in front of him. Long dead, no sense in even checking, but that wasn't his concern. It was the Guardsman's weapon. Since Bethany had her side covered, he moved to the other. Unlike her, though, he didn't fire.

Though the Chimera offered good protection against the lasrifles, it would limit one person's cover, making it easy for them to be flanked. Sure enough, within moments a traitor poked his head around to fire.

Unfortunately for him, Klightus pulled the trigger on the melta. Unarmored as he was, the traitor had no chance at all. Without waiting to make sure that he was dead (what was the point?) Klightus pushed around the corner, firing into the cluster of traitors quickly trying to backpedal from the heat. Those that dove out of the way met a grisly fate from Bethany, who had decided to leave cover.

Bethany's bolter fired one more time, with one last fleeing traitor meeting a messy fate. Gasping for air, Klightus leaned against the ruined Chimera. His throat felt raw, as if it might be bleeding. The entire battle he'd been screaming litanies and oaths in rage. Now, however, he was beginning to wear down.

Slowly, the high that he'd been riding ebbed out of his body, leaving him to actually be able to see his surroundings. To see Bethany march from corpse to corpse with a flamer, setting the defeated ablaze. Where she got it from, he didn't know. But he appreciated her zeal right now.

Or at least he would have. His body was beginning to communicate with him again. "Although my b-body is broken... Al... Although my blood p-pours away... Although my time may... GAH! End. The Immortal Emperor will greet me, and embrace m-m-me with His holy aura..." Klightus felt his body slumping to the ground, his leg no longer able to support any weight at all. "If only I r-remain... constant to Him... Through this time of..."

His hand went to the tear in his pants, gripping his wound. Bad idea. Glancing down, he saw red in the bandages. Plenty of red. "Of torment..."

Pain speckled his vision. Had he pushed himself too far? Would his family get what they had prayed for? The world began a slow, jerking spin as he slumped to his side on the cold ground.

Boots approached. He forced his eyes open again, looking up to Bethany. How weak he must look to her. How pitiful. She barely looked like she'd worked up a sweat, and here he was, fighting to remain conscious. Some hero of the Imperium he turned out to be. As her gauntlet reached out to gently touch his face, he let his eyes close.

---

Consciousness came and went. He was briefly aware of being alone. Then came the dim knowledge of being carried. He wasn't sure if he was dreaming or not, but he could have sworn that Sister Bethany forced him to drink something. Then warmth. Comforting warmth. The kind that made you think that you might have been released from your torment and taken into the Emperor's embrace.

Finally, his eyes opened. Somehow, he was in a tent. Somebody had made a pallet of blankets for him to sleep on, and had tucked him in tight. It was warm. Nice. Somehow, finer than the sheets he had back home, even if he was comfortably numb. Funny how situations like this could make creature comforts seem drastically different.

He rolled his head to the side. His eyes didn't want to focus. After a moment, he recognized what was lying next to him. His clothes. Including his personals. That made the brain come out of its fog a little more. He looked over to his other side...

...to see Sister Bethany curled up under a blanket. Not the same one as him, but they were sharing the pallet. That brought his brain as close to fully operational as it could get. His head turned sharply to stare at the roof of the tent, his eyes wide as saucers. His breathing came in sharp, shallow pants. He became aware of the fact that, despite his personals lying right next to him, he was wearing undergarments. Somehow, that was even more terrifying.

Curiosity, however dangerous a thing it might be, is hard to ignore. Klightus took a deep breath and looked back to Sister Bethany... right into those pale eyes. Immediately, his head snapped back to bore holes through the roof. Despite how out of it he felt, he still could feel his cheeks burning.

Sister Bethany, however, didn't say anything. Now that he thought about it, she hadn't said a single word since he'd met her. Odd. She rose and moved across the spacious tent to a stove, turning it on.

He couldn't help but look again. For once, she wasn't in her armor. She was in robes. Rather nice ones, somehow looking both comfortable and official at the same time. He watched her work, idly noting the small scars on her legs and arms. What little he could see that weren't covered by the robes. As she turned, holding a cup, his eyes couldn't help but wander to her neckline, noting a scar that ran across her shoulder, and further down...

But just as he was staring at her, she was staring at him. He blushed again, looking away -- he hadn't felt this embarrassed since he was thirteen and his sister caught him staring at one of the servitors. Though now the part of his mind that delighted in tormenting him wondered why he had never stared at any of the Sisters Famulous.

But then she was kneeling at his side, helping to lift his head. He let her give him the pill and took the recaf eagerly. The warm liquid spread through his chest pleasantly -- a sure sign of dehydration. It made sense. They said he'd lost a lot of blood, and with how hard they'd been pushing... and the further bleeding...

As if reading his mind, Sister Bethany moved the blankets, causing a moment of... Panic? Fear? It wasn't a happy emotion that shot through him, but he wasn't sure what it was exactly. It dissipated, however, when she started to unwrap the stained bandages on his leg.

He'd popped a stitch. Several, from the looks of it. A part of him knew that's what had happened, but that didn't make it any more pleasant to see. Somehow, wounds on other soldiers were easier to swallow than his own. "Um... Could... Could you get me m-my-my pack?"

She nodded once and stood. He'd briefly forgotten just how tall she was, and the angle... was enough to make his eyes firmly on a mark on the tent's ceiling. She returned a moment later, laying it down to give him easy access to the contents. What little there were left -- he hadn't restocked after the battle. Still, there was enough.

The needle and thread, both sterilized, were produced. He said a soft prayer, followed by three litanies -- it never hurt to beg the Emperor for a little bit of extra help. Especially when his hands felt so numb. That, though, was a good thing -- he only felt pressure when the needle pierced the flesh of his leg.

After the third time, however, shaking hands clumsily set the tools of his trade aside. Bethany, again, lifted his head to feed him some recaf. It turned out to be a bad idea, but to his credit, he managed to roll enough to keep from hitting the pallet. Sadly, rolling onto his bad leg was enough to make him actually feel it again. It and his arm.

His stomach emptied and shaking, he tried to find a position that was comfortable. Tried and failed. If Bethany thought any less of him, she didn't let it show. She pulled the blanket back around him and set about to cleaning up the mess.

He wanted to apologize, but his body just wasn't up for it.

When Klightus awoke later in the day, Bethany was already in armor. She sat on a stool, his lasrifle across her lap, anointing it. Yes, the Machine Spirit deserved appeasement. Twice now it had been in combat. He wouldn't blame it for needing a little attention.

He was content to watch her work, the white hair framing her face. The guided movements of her hands. The small nick on her jawline. The tattoo on her cheek, almost like a beauty mark.

She rose, carefully setting the lasrifle aside, and moved to the tin cup on the stove. She turned to him and moved slowly to his side again. When did she notice he was awake? She held the cup questioningly until he tried to lift his head. Once again, she helped him, holding the cup to his lips. Short, careful sips. No more than a single swallow at a time. Finally he let go, falling back...

---

The sun was setting. This time his head was clearer.

"Um, Sis... Sister Bethany?" She turned to face him, smiling faintly. "If you... If you don't mind me asking, uh, but are we... You know, s-s-safe here?"

That question seemed to amuse her enough that she left the tent for a few minutes. When she returned, she had an object in her hand. It's purpose was immediately obvious.

"M-mines. I see." He fidgeted a little, debating. "Did you put them, um, close to the camp?" A shake of her head. A wide perimeter. Right. "O-Okay. Then could you... get me my crutch?"

She looked at him quizzically for a moment until realization dawned. There was laughter of sorts -- quiet, more jerking breathing through her nose and a smile that reached up to her eyes than anything. But she had the decency to get him his crutch and grant him the privacy to go outside in peace.

They were still in the camp. She'd taken down the Commander's tent and set it up in a more secure location. The smell of burnt flesh was on the air still. Considering that he couldn't see any bodies... Well. Somehow, that told him to stay that much closer to the tent.

By morning he was feeling much better. Human, in fact. His leg still ached, but he'd refused one of her painkillers for it. Later, when he needed it. Besides, he wasn't sure how many she had. He did notice his pack was heavier -- she must have repacked it for him.

They paused at the edge of camp long enough for him to say a prayer for those who died. While he'd gotten dressed, she'd removed the mines. Though it would have been a pleasant surprise to any future scavengers, eventually somebody would come to reclaim the equipment here for the Guard. They didn't want to accidentally take them out on accident.

At least, he hoped they didn't.

For three days, they travelled. Each day, Klightus got a little bit faster. Each day, his leg hurt a little bit less. And each day, he found himself becoming more and more fidgety.

It wasn't necessarily because she didn't talk to him. Truth be told, he didn't really talk to very many people. He'd always end up stuttering, and then they'd laugh at him, even worse if they knew he was nobility. Fighting the urge to try and talk to people was always the hardest part. But there had always been people talking around him. Three days of walking, and he had no idea what to do with himself, to occupy himself.

Even with Sister Bethany, Klightus was lonely. And somehow, now that he was recognizing landmarks, it seemed to get worse. Simply knowing that they were going to be at the sight of the battle soon made him feel... dull. Hollow inside.

Sister Bethany must have recognized it. As they sat for what he was sure would be their last lunch together, she prepared what must have been the most extravagant meal thus far, giving him an extra large potion. It wasn't until he saw how small of one she herself received that he was finally stirred to words.

"Sister B-Bethany, you don-don't have to that. Here, t-take some. You need to keep your strength up as much as-" The glare that she shot him could both melt ice and freeze oxygen at the same time. Quickly, he drew back. "Then again, I'm n-not the type to insult a p-proper lady like yourself b-by refusing such a wonderful gift. That would be like s-saying that the Commissar had terrible taste in r-rotgut. ...Which he does, b-but you d-don't say that if you like your limbs. Um, I mean, thank you? ...And sorry?"

Judging by her smile and the way her shoulders were shaking, he was guessing that she was amused. That sent a small thrill up his spine. He'd done good, that time! His own smile was eager and earnest.

"Um... when... When I was young, there was a member of Orders Famulous... S-Sister Kandra. She ended up t-taking care of me. A lot, I guess. But, um, when I was six, I... sort of fell off a balcony. ...and through some glass. Um, you probably, you know, saw the scars. But anyway, while she was helping me recuperate, she told me... She told me two things.

"The first was that I should a-always trust in the Emperor's guidance, that H-He gave of Himself f-for humanity, and that through Him, I would find all that I n-needed, so long as I remained f-faithful and p-pure. And I have! But, uh, that isn't the important part." He drew a breath. "She also told me that... If I w-was ever in trouble, hurt, l-lost, or in n-need of guidance... or whatever... She said to always find an Adepta Sororita. That she w-would help me."

Klightus bit his lip. It stung a little -- he must have gnawed a hole in it at some point. "What... I'm trying t-to say that... I... Thank you, Sister Bethany. I... You and your Order came at the right time. For us, I mean. You s-saved a lot of Guardsmen, and... me. And you went out of your way to help... me." He looked down at his food, hard. "I... I don't know w-why, but... Thank you."

He never saw her reaction. He was too embarassed. He'd started out so encouraged by her mirth that he just started blubbering, and now... Klightus focused on his meal until it was done, then kept his distance until they were ready to leave.

---

It was getting close to dark as they crested the hill, giving them a clear view of the battlefield. Klightus stopped, leaning on his crutch as he surveyed the area.

Nothing.

An entire regiment leaves a huge mark on the land. The scars were there, but there weren't any of the people. He did up the math in his head, and the numbers didn't quite add up. The only way that they could have been gone like this is if they started packing up within a day of the battle. Tops. For the first time in hours, he looked to Sister Bethany directly, but her hard gaze on the horizon gave him no sense of satisfaction.

Until her hand shot out, pointing into the distance. He followed her gaze, squinting. For several moments, he found nothing... and then, it looked like a Rhino transport, but... No, an Immolator.

Klightus opened his mouth to ask, but Bethany was already on a direct march. Well, at least she answered the question in her own way. Grunting, he walked, mentally repeating the words of his commissar -- move as if you have a purpose. He had a purpose, all right. Like finding out where in the Emperor's grace his regiment was.

As they approached, the Sisters took note. One in particular stood forward. "Sister Bethany." Her gaze turned to him. "Guardsman Klightus Gramon." He blushed at the use of his House name. "We expected you yesterday. Was there a problem?"

Bethany turned to look at him. It took a moment before he realized that she expected him to explain the situation. "W-we, uh, we found the remains of the Jignur Fifth Regiment. They... had been destroyed, I'm afraid. S-slaughtered to a m-man, as far as I could tell." He paused. The Sister's expression didn't make him want to continue at all. "We were also attacked b-by the traitors."

"I see," the black-haired Sister said evenly. "Sister Bethany, do you have anything to add?"

Bethany thrust out her hand. Klightus couldn't see what was in it, but gauging by the way the other snarled, he wasn't sure he wanted to. "It is as I expected. We've already had confirmation elsewhere." The Sister paused. "As you can see, the Jignur Third Regiment has already been called away to another location. Shall we transport you?"

Bethany shook her head. That seemed to surprise the dark-haired one. "I see. Interesting. Might I suggest that you camp here for the evening? If the two of you have been under fire, then you may wish time to rest and pray in peace."

Bethany nodded, and Klightus made the sign of the aquila over his chest. He was more than willing to defer to their judgement.

The chatter of the Sisters, even if most of it was prayer, was somewhat of a comfort to Klightus. It was something to focus on, to think about. A welcome distraction from his own mind.

Not so much when the dark haired one approached him. He stopped his work on the lasrifle to make the sign of the aquila. "I realized that introductions had not been made. I am Sister Intias. May I sit?"

"Um..." Klightus looked around. She shouldn't have to ask. It was well within her right to do whatever. "Okay? Is there s-something that you need?"

She eyed him evenly as she sat. "Perhaps. You seem nervous, Klightus. Is there something the matter?"

"No. N-no, nothing at all. No. I... I just... I'm not..." He felt himself blushing. "I'm not good. With people, I mean. I mean, I don't... I... should probably just shut up now." He felt like burying himself in his hands. Or under a large rock.

Intias didn't seem amused, at least. He wasn't sure if this was good or bad. "I see. Interesting." Bad. This was bad. "The battle that occurred here. I'm told that you were part of it."

"Yes, I was. I... I'm a M-Medicae. In the field. I... I participated, yes."

"I'm told that you fought, too."

He hoped she wasn't putting him on trial. "I d-did. There were times where shooting back was more important than treating w-wounds. You c-can't keep Guardsmen on their f-feet if your position is... overrun."

Her eyes narrowed. "Do you know why we took you with us?"

He glanced around, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. Even more eerie by the fact that they were sitting outside. "...Because I was wounded?" His voice was high pitched. He felt like he was a teenager again.

"Hardly." She leaned forward, her stare boring into him. "You fought bravely. You fought, and treated your fellow Guardsmen, despite multiple wounds. Many sisters noted the speed and skill you displayed. But you've not a single medal to your name. Only your laurels. Tell me, why is this?"

Klightus shrugged, honestly confused.

"To be truthful, either your skill is exemplary, and thus worthy of notice, or your comrades were not showing proper devotion to the Emperor's work. We wanted to know which was which."

He paused, taking in a breath. Things were starting to make sense. "Y-you suspect me of being a h-heretic?"

One of Intias' eyebrows raised. "That is one possibility, yes. Does this make you nervous?"

"No." His shoulders slumped. "No, it makes me... kind of guilty." His eyes found a spot on the ground that was apparently very interesting, even though he wasn't actually seeing it. "I.. You're w-wasting t-time on me."

"Are you saying you are innocent?"

He drew a breath. Why did part of him feel like crying? "No. I... I g-get afraid on the battlefield a lot. S-sometimes, I feel the urge to run away. So I charge. When I can. When I can't, there's a-always shooting."

He didn't dare look at Intias. Even now, fear was crippling him. "An interesting response. A confession to cowardice, yet an attempt to overcome it. I believe I understand why Sister Amalia and Sister Bethany chose the route that they did." He looked up at her. "To judge one man is a simple affair. To judge and purge an entire regiment, however, can be time consuming. Especially if they resist judgement."

She stood sharply. "I suggest that you be truthful in all matters, Guardsman Klightus Gramon. Be truthful, and guard yourself. If you are untainted, there is no gaurantee that the taint of Chaos may not work its way into your soul."

As she took her leave, Klightus realized that he would get no sleep tonight.

---

They left the next morning as soon as prayer was done. It was nice to be able to hear it for a change; Klightus committed as much as he could to memory. Their prayers were more intensive than what he heard in the Guard and, honestly, they gave him more peace. Especially after the previous night. He needed whatever peace he could get.

Sister Bethany could tell that something was wrong. Maybe it was his yawning, or the fact that he couldn't bring himself to keep his head up, constantly looking at the ground in front of him as they walked. Her curious, concerned looks earned a half-hearted smile in return before putting his head down and continuing on.

Lunch, needless to say, was a miserable affair. Before, he'd watched in marvel as she turn rations into something that was not only hot but also fairly tasty. Instead, he just thought. Even after she gave him his tin dish, he spent more time thinking than pretending to eat. At least, until she knelt in front of him, her hand on his shoulder, her ice blue eyes looking at him worriedly.

"I'm fine," he mumbled, taking a bite to prove it. She didn't move. The only thing that changed was her expression. She wasn't buying it at all. With a sigh, he had to give in.

"Sister Intias t-told me," he muttered, doing anything he could from looking at Bethany. "She... told me why you're escorting me. B-because either I'm tainted or..." Klightus sucked in a deep breath. "Or my regiment is. And I... I've never been anything but loyal, Sister Bethany. Even in the tower, I said my p-p-prayers and followed the cult. I've never turned m-my back on the Emperor, not for one moment. I can't. But..."

He looked up at her, his throat feeling tight. "You have to believe. When you s-see everything that you've helped do, you have t-to believe in your orders. That what the c-commander or commissar tell you t-to do are the right thing. That they're p-pure. When you s-see a child that isn't a mutant who's been... You have to b-believe that they're right. That they do the Emperor's w-work unquestioningly. If you don't..."

He closed his eyes. "I've seen what happens if you don't. I won't be like that, a h-h-h-heretic. So you p-put your head down and you t-trust in them. And if they're t-tainted..." He clenched his eyes shut, focusing on what he needed to say, words that seemed to be caught in the back of his throat.

"I hope it's me," he blurted out finally. Now the words "I h-hope that I'm the one t-tainted! I hope that they're all pure, and that I'm j-just... I'm going to die, and I'm f-fine with that. I'm going to go to the Emperor's embrace. But... I've just been trying to keep all of them alive this entire time, and if they... aren't... If they're no better than the traitors, heretics in disguise, then I've... Then I've been..."

Adepta Sororitas power armor was not designed to give anybody but the wearer any form of physical comfort. Some might argue that it was designed for the opposite. But Klightus felt no pain as Bethany hugged him. The armor was somehow warm to the touch, comforting. For once her silence was welcome.

And, in time, he returned the embrace.

But the only good things that could last forever were the God Emperor and the Imperium. They eventually released each other. Klightus wiped at his face before looking up to her. Bethany had a serene expression. Sister Kandra had been right, it seemed.

"I'm fine," he forced out. A cough, and more firmly, "I'm better. Honestly. You... still have your judgement to make, and I have to live by it. I... For what it's worth, Bethany, thank you. I... This has been... We should finish our meal. We're behind schedule, yes?"

He gave her the best smile he could. Hers was small, but encouraging. As he ate, however, he couldn't help but still feel the memory of her hand stroking his hair.

Superstition is a powerful thing. Klightus firmly believed in the idea that if something happened a few times in a row, there was a good chance of it happening again. As the sun began to fall, a sense of dread came over him. Since he'd left the Adepta Sororitas camp with Sister Bethany, nothing good had ever happened at dusk.

He wasn't disappointed.

The sound of a truck made the two of them glance at each other for a moment before moving off the road they were walking, hiding behind trees for cover. The truck stopped short, the headlights blinding them. After a moment, the engine shut down and people started to get out. He couldn't make out what they were saying, but they sounded local. The headlights shut off.

As Klightus' eyes adjusted, he could make out one important fact: they were bleeding. He glanced to Bethany, her face hard as stone. She must have seen something that he'd missed, because her lip curled up in a sneer. He decided that he never wanted her to look at him that way. Already he was glad that he'd gone into the bushes just half an hour ago.

She flashed him one finger. He began to whisper the Oath of Allegiance quickly. He was halfway through the Litany of War when she flashed him the second finger. he finished the Litany of the Lasgun as she flashed the third.

As one, the two of them pushed their weapons out from cover, barely taking a heartbeat to sight the enemy before firing. Immediately, two of the figures fell, one instantly blown into his component parts. The other six turned and began to charge. "FOR CHAOS!"

Oh. By the Throne, no. Klightus sneered as he sighted another, the three providing defence from their wild shots. "Smite the foe," he bellowed as he fired, this time only scoring a glancing blow. "Smash the enemy!" This time, he hit the heretic in the chest, but the man kept coming. "For the Emperor we bring death!" True to his word, he man's face sizzled, causing him to fall. And then there were two.

Or three. Klightus caught a glimpse of movement from the back of the truck. He didn't know what it was, but the fact that Sister Bethany's next shot wasn't aimed at the cultists told him enough. For now, however, he ignored the monstrosity with the pick and took aim at the closest cultist. Keep them from tying the both of them up, from having to watch their backs. Basic tactics; don't let yourself be flanked.

By the time that he finished the last cultist, the warp spawn was upon them, charging for Bethany. Its great pick-like weapon made an evil should as it swiped through the air. Unfortunately, the very thing that had protected them from the cultists fire now was working against Klightus. Every time he tried to draw a bead on the hulking beast, the forest worked against him. He would have lost the two of them had it not been for Bethany's bolt pistol firing.

He moved quickly, trying not to be awestruck. Not by the warp spawn, but by Bethany herself. The glimpses he caught of her evading the beast's attacks despite her armor... No, they were too close to get a shot off, damn it. Klightus charged, his rifle held at the ready, his bayonet pointed firmly at the enemy. It struck home in the creature's shoulder, missing the mark of the head.

That, at least, got the creature's attention. It swung its massive arm, only clipping Klightus. From a creature that powerful, however, a glancing blow was still something. Klightus hit the ground, his lasrifle being flung from his grasp. His world spun, even as he heard the firing of Bethany's great weapon. As he lifted his head, he realized why; he'd landed on, and destroyed, the crutch he'd been using. Now wasn't the time. He pushed himself onto his hands and knees, glancing at the monster...

To see the evil weapon strike home on Bethany, impaling her.

The sound of the impact hit Klightus like a gunshot.

---

There was no thought. There was no sanity. Klightus was only dimly aware of his actions, of what was going on. Rage had enveloped him. It roared at her. There was something in his hand. It shook its weapon, sending her sprawling to the ground. Klightus jumped. His armor protected him from the protrusions on its back. It startled, surprised by the action. Klightus reached around and put the weapon under its chin. It reached back to grab him. He pulled the trigger.

Heat enveloped his world as the melta sprung to life, causing his hair to singe. It started to topple.

The two of them hit the ground hard. It was still moving. Not much, trying to grip its throat, but somehow the accursed warp-spawn continued to live. That was enough to keep Klightus' rage alive. He found himself on his feet, rushing over to it, and firing his weapon. He screamed the Litany of Penetration, the Prayer of Smiting, the Death Incantation, the Incantation of Battle. He even made a disparaging remark about the creatures heritage. And he continued to scream, until the fuel ran out and the melta went silent.

The thing moved no more.

His hand was blistering already. His face felt hot. But as he drew in shaking breaths, Klightus had other concerns. He moved quickly to Bethany's prone form, falling to his knees. She'd been hit in the gut, good. That was potentially better than the chest, at least. Far better than the head. But her armor... His hands worked frantically.

"Machine spirits, please. I don't know how to help you, but..." He pulled to no avail. "If you don't let me remove you, I can't help the one you protect. Now get. Off! Please, release your hold on her! Please..."

Her hand moved. Weakly, but it moved to a clasp. Before she fumbled it free, he'd already gotten another. His hands worked faster than they had ever before. He pulled, discovering that he'd missed a clasp. Finally, though, the breastplate came free, tossed unceremoniously to the side.

He wouldn't say that the wound was good. There was no such thing as a good wound. But he'd treated worse. If she was untainted, she'd be fine. He'd treated, and saved, people with worse wounds... with a fully stocked Medicae tent to take them to. He cursed himself silently. Klightus had no idea how far away they were from the regiment. Bethany knew, serving as his guide, so he hadn't considered it important to know. Now he cursed himself. There was no way that he could drag her anywhere in time to safely...

All thought stopped as realization set in. Assuming the cultists hadn't corrupted it, they had access to a truck. Given how fast they'd moved, he could get her back to the remains of the Fifth. There, at least, might be the supplies he'd need. And if not, it wasn't too much farther to the Sororitas camp. He set to work on treating her as best he could, sweating heavily.

For once, there was no "good enough" for him. She had to be as stable as he could possibly get her before he moved her. All of his meatball skills were put to the test. He prayed that the Emperor would find his effort fulfilling, that He would grant her the ability to make it.

Finally satisfied, Klightus picked her up as gently as he could. Her blue eyes looked up to him questioningly. "It's going to be alright," he muttered half to himself. For the first time since she'd been hurt, she winced as he put her in the back seat of the truck, taking a sharp breath between her teeth. He leaned down to gently stroke her face, giving her a comforting smile. "Don't worry. I'm going to fix you up. You're going to be alright. You're going to do fine. We're just... We're going to go for a little drive is all. Alright?" He nodded before pulling away, closing the door.

"Don't make me a liar," he begged the Emperor under his breath before getting into the driver's side. The thing was... he'd never actually driven before. He knew the incantation to start the vehicle from having seen it done, but actually driving?

But the incantation worked. In his mind, he followed the route, figuring up which way to go. Oh, he hoped that they cleaned up all the claymores. As the machine spirit protested somebody who didn't know how to work a clutch, he pulled out, more determined than ever.

The truck literally skidded to a stop. Yes, he'd run over some corpses, but right now he didn't care. The machine spirit was still grumbling about the drive as he bailed out, sprinting into the half-collapsed field tent. Fortunately, it didn't seem to be too ruined, and the supplies weren't badly ransacked. Good. Things were... They weren't looking bright, but he could do this. He turned on torches to illuminate the tent and rushed back out to the truck.

The sight of Bethany made his heart catch in his throat. She was... so pale. Her chest was barely moving at all. His triage work was stained red, and...

No. His jaw set hard, making his teeth ache. No. He was a field Medicae. And he could... No. He would save her. No matter what. With shaking hands, he carried her into the tent, placing her on the chirurgeons table. Dropping his jacket, he paused only to wash his hands and begin the litanies. The prayers. Anything he could think of to draw the Emperor's mercy upon him.

Every single trick Klightus knew, he used. Tubes fed blood into her. His undershirt was wet with sweat. He sung hymns as he carefully made incisions, gave her injections, and irrigated the wound. But he had to leave it open. As much as the wound sucked into his own heart, he had to leave it open. Stare at it. Infection thrived in warm, moist places. He had to make sure that it didn't set in before he closed her up.

When he could do no more for her body, he found a stool. Sitting next to her, he began to pray. His voice was raw, but... He had to do something. He had to. Clutching her cool hand in his own, he placed his forehead on the chirurgeon's table, and prayed through the night. What else could he do?

Klightus didn't know when he fell asleep. To be true, he hadn't planned on sleeping. Hadn't planned on much of anything. But at some point during the wee hours of the morning, his exhaustion overcame his willpower. His forehead was aching from being the only thing supporting his head all night, and his pants were... wet. He'd been drooling in his sleep. His angry bladder told him that much.

His eyes moved to the vitals auspex wearily. By the Emperor, they were stable. Heartbeat, blood pressure... The were stable. It didn't mean that they were out of the danger zone yet, but... It was a start. "You're tough," he whispered, his throat horse. "And strong. That... couldn't have killed you. Couldn't have..." He'd seen what could happen, blood loss could weaken the soul, and simple wounds could...

"I'll be right back." He paused, though. He found that he didn't want to let go of her hand. Every fibre of his being wanted to be here, right now. He moved, ever so slightly, shaking. Every moment, he shook worse as his hands moved, raising hers. He hesitated, glancing up to her face. But she was unconscious, she... It was safe enough. He pressed his lips to the back of her hand, rubbed it against his cheek. Finally, however, he gently set it down.

The sun was shining outside. It was almost noon as he relieved himself. He should eat. He should... do something, he told himself. As he looked back at the tent, however, he knew that there wasn't much that he was going to be doing.

Inside, there was no change. That felt like a band had been released from around his chest. A part of him, the part that tormented him so, feared that he would come back to find her dead. His eyes fell to his pack. He reminded himself that he should eat... in a moment. He crossed over to her again, once again taking up her hand.

"Sister Bethany," he whispered softly. "I... know you can't hear me, but I just wanted to say... I know your job is to judge me, but this has been the best time of my life. Even with everything. You've kept me company. You've worried about me. At least, I like to think so. You helped me with my wounds, and watched over me when I slept. You kept me safe. You... No matter what happens, I have no regrets. I'm... happy. But I want you to live so badly... so very badly that I can taste it. Seeing you like this isn't right. You just... Live. Please, no matter what, live. I... I think I..."

But the words wouldn't come. Instead, he put his head back on the table and began his prayers anew.

---

The ration didn't really have any flavor, but Klightus had learned long ago that you didn't expect flavor from a ration. He tossed the tin away, wiping at his face. Four days now. Four days now, he'd been here. He'd kept her sedated the last two, mostly for her benifit. Yesterday, he'd closed her up. As far as he could tell, she was untainted by the weapon, but he was far from an expert in these matters.

And this was only his third time eating.

He settled into the stool next to her once more. There was a visible mark where he'd been resting his head all this time, be it for prayer or sleep. Once again, he took her hand in his and began to pray again. His prayers had become mere whispers. Half the time, he wasn't even sure what to say. Any words just came out. Half prayer for her well-being, half confessional.

The cool fingers against the back of his head startled him. His head snapped up to find her looking down with heavy eyes. At him. His heart nearly skipped a beat as a smile came to his face. "I... S-see, what d-did I tell you? We... You got through it just fine. Just fine indeed. I-I..."

He bit his lip as words failed him again. But she smiled. That was enough for him. It was a lazy, tired smile, but there it was all the same. That was enough to give him more encouragement than anything.

"You're... P-probably hungry. I should... I want to warn you that I'm not a very good cook. I d-don't... Um." He stood up, looking around. "Right, um... Stay right there. I'll go... you know."

Bethany allowed him to pull away, but seemed content to watch him work. If nothing else, that made his heart fly.

"Alright, so w-we're here." He pointed on the map. "And here's where they are n-now... So..." He thought about it a tick. "Okay, this road should be the fastest route, assuming it hasn't been taken out by the f-fighting. At least, if they haven't moved..."

She looked at him curiously. It hurt her, he knew, but she'd taken to sitting up on her own. They'd moved her to a cot last night. Her recovery was going superbly, but that could have just been sheer stubbornness on her part.

"Oh, when I was a kid, I liked to explore. I got pretty good at navigating. But it, uh, it got me into trouble a c-couple of times. So... yeah. I don't get to touch the maps, b-but whenever we move out, I p-pay attention. I l-like to think about alternate routes and stuff. Takes my m-mind off the upcoming fighting."

They shared a comfortable moment of silence, each smiling a little at the other. Funny that. A few days ago, he hated the silence. Now he he actually enjoyed it. A part of him wanted it to last forever.

...But he knew, deep down, that it couldn't. They had to go back. And then they had to part, one way or another. Maybe he was just being a fatalist, but it was still the truth.

"Sister Bethany, I... C-can you make me a promise?" The sudden shift in mood made her brow furrow. "I... I know what's coming, and... No m-matter what happens, can you... Can you let my parents know? What happened? I... They're still my family, and despite it all, I s-still owe them the same s-sense of duty that I d-do the guard."

Her confusion was plain as day. Her lips parted and she slowly shook her head. Quickly, Klightus took her hand in his. "Please. It's not much. Just a message. Just... s-something. Let them know. I c-can't send one myself, the c-commander has never l-let me. He s-says I'm just a spoiled noble. B-but... Could you do this... one thing for me? Please?"

Slowly, her face softened. Pity and concern enveloped it. Her free hand reached out to stroke his cheek, oddly smooth against his rough stubble. But she nodded, smiling sadly.

He sighed, feeling another weight off of him. He was almost completely free of all the chains holding him down. Just one last one... He closed his eyes and leaned against her hand. "Thank you..."

---

"Oh, please, Machine Spirit, please..." Klightus performed the incantation again, but the machine spirit simply grumbled at him. There was enough fuel, so why did the truck just stop? In rage, he balled up a fist... and stopped. No. The machine spirit was injured. It had performed well, all things considered, and had decided that it was time to rest. He shouldn't take out his frustration on it.

A gentle hand on his shoulder drew his attention. Bethany was back in her armor, though he hated the sight of her in it. With the hole, he could see the bandages, and that... He didn't like that. Her robes were better. More graceful, too. She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, tilting her head.

"Are you o-okay to w-walk?" She nodded. "C-can you, uh, get transport back to the Sororitas once we get there." There was a momentary pause before she nodded again.

That settled it, then. "I guess we're w-walking, then. It hopefully w-won't take more than a day." It might have just been an optimistic opinion, but it also might have been the pessimism talking.

She had "volunteered" to make lunch for them. At least, when he pulled out the rations, she grabbed his hand and got out her own. He... wasn't going to argue. Besides, she was better not only at cooking but at making a fire, too. He suspected that just came with being a Sororita, though.

While stretching, he saw a color that didn't quite belong this time of year. Winter was coming, but he could spy yellow flowers. He glanced back to her, then to the flowers as an idea began to form in his head. "Um, I'm going to... the bushes. Okay?" Bethany rolled her eyes and waved him off. Good, that would give him time.

His plan, however, didn't turn out to be so well thought out as he'd of liked. Apparently, he had absolutely no skill. First, they wouldn't weave. "By the Throne." Then, once he got them to start weaving, where he started would become unwoven. "Oh, Emperor protect me!" Then, as if to mock him, the stems began to break. "Oh, come on now!"

Motion caught him. Bethany was leaning against a tree, an amused expression on her face. She was still clutching her side, but at least he didn't see any blood. He took a breath before shaking his head. "I was t-trying to make this..." He made circular motions with his hands, fighting to try and find the right word. "It was on s-some of the murals at home, this-this thing of flowers that you wear on your head. Well, girls do. Or so I g-got from the mural. And I saw these and thought that maybe I'd... I d-don't know, maybe make one? For you? To put in your hair? ...Does that make sense to you?"

Her shoulders were shaking. She was smiling. That was good enough for him. He grabbed the largest flower and pushed himself to his feet. He felt like... he felt like he should just run away, like the weight of the entire planet was on him. But still, he held the flower out to her tentatively, trying not to look too stupid. When she took it, he let out a deep breath, closing his eyes. Which left him completely defenceless for what happened next.

The feeling of her lips on his made him jerk, but her hand was already on the back of his neck, holding his head in place. His entire body stiffened, every muscle suddenly going taunt until it felt like his calves were going to have cramps. But he did relax, his hands moving to gently frame her face.

After what seemed to be such a blissful eternity that didn't last for nearly long enough, she broke the kiss, moving just inches away. Klightus' heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest and she... was blushing. She honestly looked bashful over what she had just done. As he fought for something, anything to say, there was a sound behind them.

His hand went to his lasrifle, and hers to her bolt pistol. But instead of finding somebody trying to kill them, instead they found the pot boiling over. "Lunch," he said with a nervous laugh. Bethany, at least, smiled and threw her arm around her shoulders. In return, he wrapped his around her waist and helped her back to the fire.

Klightus heard the camp long before they saw it. There was no way that such a large number of Guardsmen could keep themselves quiet for long. But this was it. He kept his pace even, going through the marching drills in his head. Focus on anything other than having to say goodbye. One foot in front of the other, slow enough that Bethany could keep up. He had to present himself to the commander.

One foot in front of the other. Happiness was earned. One foot in front of the other. Happiness was spent in moments that one could reflect upon later. One foot in front of the other. Happiness was gained through devotion and sacrifice. And he had earned it well. And, in his opinion, he'd spent it well. The Emperor had seen his devotion and had aptly rewarded him. But, as with all things, it had to come to an end.

What a sight the two of them must have been. Her, wounded and limping along. Him, covered in blood, singed, his lasrifle slung and a melta in his hand. Guardsmen stared, but he didn't mind. Let them. Let them stare, make jokes. They didn't know. For once in his life, he didn't care what a damn one of them thought.

"Klightus," the Commander growled. "You were due to return to the regiment a week ago. They said that you had set off."

"Yes, s-s-sir," Klightus replied, forming the aquila. "They w-w-were unable t-t-to p-provide-"

"What kept you?" the Commander asked, looking at Bethany.

"S-sir!" Klightus swallowed. His entire body was shaking. "We found the remains of the Jignur F-F-Fifth Regiment, sir, where w-we were attacked by the insurrectionists. It c-complicated my injuries, requiring time to rest."

"You seem to be getting along just fine," Commissar Dariel responded evenly.

"Yes, s-sir." Klightus made the aquila again. "The stitches have h-h-held now." His throat felt like it was full of razor blades. "We then m-made our way back to where the Third w-was camped at. W-we were informed that y-you had moved to this location. A-after, we were attacked by cultists. Sister B-B-Bethany was injured in the f-fray, requiring we r-r-rest further. It h-has only been within the l-l-last day that we were a-able to finish the j-journey."

"Do you have anything to add, Sister Bethany?" The Commander sounded rather cross.

Out of the corner of her eye, he watched as she gestured to the hole in her armor, touched the bandages underneath, then smiled at Klightus with a nod.

"I see."

"Guardsman Klightus," Commissar Dariel cut in with a bark. "Where did you get that melta?"

"F-found it, s-sir. W-with the Fifth." He paused to take in a dry breath, staring the Commissar directly in the eyes. "It's empty, s-s-sir. I... I used all of it on a-a-a single c-c-cultist."

The Commander and the Commissar shared a glance. The Commander nodded. Commissar Dariel's hand moved to his side. Klightus squared his shoulders back, bringing himself up to his full height, and closed his eyes.

"Can't you do anything right?"

His brother's words stung his ears.

"You spoiled noble brats are all the same! Trying to get something for nothing. You can send a message to your family when you've earned it, but I don't see that happening."

The Commander never liked him, simply out of birth.

"You are nothing but a disgrace to this House! When are you going to contribute something to it?"

His mother's love...

"Looks like you got the good recaf. Hope you don't mind if I have some, do you? Heh. Of course you don't."

Why would the other men respect him?

"One more time, Klightus. One more time, and I'm not paying the ransom. You aren't worth it!"

How his father's words cut deep...

"Do us a favor and have the decency to do something right for once in your life and die quietly."

Yes. Finally. He would do what his family had always wanted. They wouldn't have to worry about him being a burden any more. For days he'd been worried about this plan, but now... Now he found it strangely liberating. He was free. He was happy, happier than he'd been in his entire life. He'd done his duty, but he could understand why none would see it. None except Bethany, and who would she tell? Who could she tell? No, a Guardsman doesn't seek out glory. He seeks only his duty, right?

He couldn't complain. In a short week, he'd found love, peace, and a place in the universe. The Emperor had seen his devotion and rewarded him. And now, by the simple guilt of telling the truth, he would be sent to His embrace at peace and happy, completing his duty to his family. Who could ask for anything more?

Klightus opened his eyes to look down the barrel of the gun and found himself smiling.

A gun which veered wildly off course when Bethany's gauntleted fist connected with the Commissar's face. The shot went wide, missing Klightus completely, forcing his smile to fade into confusion. Even more so when Bethany stepped forward, pointing her bolt pistol firmly at the Commissar's head. Klightus' mouth opened, but nothing came out save for a small squeak. The only movement from the Commissar was his breathing.

After what seemed to be an eternity, she turned to Klightus, fixing those ice blue eyes on him. Tears ran down her face, a face twisted into a visage of fury. That same gauntlet raised to slap him in the face, right across the cheek still tender from the flamer. Klightus staggered, fighting just to stay upright, tears misting his vision. He'd much rather of been shot than suffer that.

He righted himself slowly, his hand cradling the stinging cheek. He barely got his eyes opened when Bethany grabbed his shoulder and swung him around so he was facing away from the Commander. Placing an arm around his shoulders, she looked at him, her face full of concern. That look, those tears... Klightus decided that he hated that sight on her. Bethany nodded once to him. That was all the communication he needed. Wrapping an arm around her waist, the two of them began to limp out of the encampment.

---

Epilogue

"Klightus. It is good to have you home."

His face split into a wide smile. "Sister K-Kandra," he said warmly, forming the aquila.

"There is no need for that."

"We are all s-servants to the Emperor, Sister Kandra." The two of them spent a long moment smiling to each other before he stepped through the door. "I take it that they are w-waiting for m-me?"

"No," she said flatly. "Please, allow an old woman a few surprises." Was she old? There were wrinkles in her face, but at the same time...

"Then have they been derelict in their duties?" That took her by surprise. Yes, he had been learning. He opened his mouth to explain... No. No matter. This all worked out surprisingly well. "Then please, stay here a moment. There is one m-more surprise that I believe you will be able to appreciate. I c-can find my way."

It felt good to walk through the halls. To look at the murals. Especially in his uniform. It was a little hot in his greatcoat, but... Well, he didn't mind. Not at all. He made his way through Gramon Tower, easily finding the sitting room.

Both Mother and Father were there. They looked well, of course. You couldn't not, with their status. Mother had that look about her that said she'd just been through a rejuvenation treatment. Good. He was glad to see that she was keeping up appearances.

"Klightus," his father said flatly. "You live."

They both rose to get a closer look at him. "Y-yes father. I still l-live."

"And the Guard has let you come home between signings?" his mother asked. He could feel the venom in her words.

"No, Mother. I am n-n-not going on another tour with the-"

He'd forgotten about his mother's left cross. But he didn't stagger. He didn't dare. Now wasn't the time. He slowly righted his head, glaring down at his mother. "Feel better?"

"How dare you," she seethed. "You were to be a hero of the Imperium. You were to-"

"I hope we're not interrupting anything." The looks on his parents faces were priceless.

Klightus turned slowly to look behind him. Despite being twins, he could instantly tell them apart. "Mother, Father. I would like you t-to m-meet Sister Amaia." She bowed her head only the slightest touch, her ice blue eyes glaring daggers. "Sister Bethany." Bethany didn't bother with even the barest hints of politeness. There was a flash of white behind her. "And Katla Gramon. Come h-here, Katla..."

The little girl peeked out from behind Bethany, hesitated, then ran to Klightus' embrace. He looked at his parents. Oh, yes. This would be interesting...

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 recieved 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 Cannoness 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 Cannoness 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 Cannoness 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."

Klihgtus 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 Hospitaler? 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 Hospitaler. "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 an 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.

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