“Bite. They beat her. The weight seated fully. No tools. Only two souls breathed in that silent chamber: Sister Roxy, stripped of everything but faith — and Priestess Verena, whose hands trembled despite decades of ritual calm. Her will flickered — but never failed. But he looked up as she entered. Her entire body resisted — locked up — twisted in silent torment. Heavy. Heavy. One eye was swollen shut. Laughed. “Inside. A vessel. Her hands clawed at the stone floor, her legs trembling violently. No weapons. Heavy. A vessel. And then the bolter fire began. Heavy. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, lips whispering the Litany of Suffering. The pain was white, all-consuming. But in a galaxy that grinds even saints to dust, her greatest act of service would come not from battle — but from surrender. Those who served with her never forgot. The heretics believed she was a captured missionary — a discarded Sister cast off by the Ecclesiarchy.
