After bandaging, Figgsin lifted her head.
Her gaze, from behind the helmet's eye-slits, pierced through the protective shield, directly meeting the Mutants' eyes, wide with pain and the incredible scene before them.
Her voice, transmitted through the vox-caster, still carried a cold, metallic quality, but the frigid aloofness that once regarded them as absolute aliens had been tempered away by the flames of their shared resistance against Chaos: "Your actions... upheld the teachings of the Lectitio Divinitatus."
Her words were clear and forceful, quoting the essence of the sacred texts: "'Though dwelling in shadows, their hearts face the Emperor's light; bravely repelling evil, they manifest loyalty.'"
This statement was like a boulder cast into still water!
It meant that Figgsin, a Battle Sisters renowned for her iron will and fervent faith, had quoted the Lectitio Divinitatus to affirm the Mutants' actions in defending their home!
This was tantamount to declaring that, on the battlefield against Chaos, their actions, in that moment, briefly converged with the core spirit of the Imperium's defense of order!
The injured, scales-skinned, burly male Mutant froze completely.
A colossal shock, like an invisible heavy hammer, instantly overwhelmed the burning pain in his arm.
Muscles tensed beneath his scaly skin, his cloudy eyes widened in disbelief, fixed on Figgsin's expressionless helmet.
His lips moved futilely, but no sound emerged.
The surrounding Mutant residents fell into a heavy, heart-stopping silence.
Heavy breathing seemed to have been drawn away, only the hollow crackle of embers deep within the pipes echoing.
Every pair of eyes—cloudy, wary, weathered—was fixed intently on Figgsin and their bandaged companion.
Old Cripple's hunched figure leaned slightly forward, and in his cloudy eyes, a complex light flickered intensely: the deepest shock, lingering doubt, and a hint of...
A nearly dizzying sensation brought about by being treated with "recognition" rather than "extermination" by this warrior who represented absolute order and power.
Finally, that light settled, transforming into a heavy, complex feeling he had never experienced in his long and arduous life—an unexpected sense of being included within the Imperium's standard of measurement.
Figgsin rose swiftly, her ceramite joints making a faint resetting sound.
Her strict gaze swept over the scene, not lingering on the Mutants, and she directly issued clear, unquestionable orders to the Sister beside her: "Send him to the medical station immediately, priority treatment."
This command was crisp and decisive, both a necessary treatment for the injured and an invisible boundary, limiting that astonishing "affirmation" to the context of battlefield aid—rules remained clear, duty above all else.
Then, her gaze turned to the still-rising embers at B-7 Junction, her voice steady and with unquestionable authority: "Thoroughly clear the battlefield, ensure no lingering threats. Maintain the current status of D-7 Sector, await further instructions."
—
Days later, the pale lights of D-7 Sector illuminated on schedule. The Mutant residents, as usual, walked towards the cold metal wall sprayed with Imperial maxims, preparing for their routine dawn prayers.
However, their steps halted in unison as they approached—the scene at the base of the wall was completely new.
The makeshift platform, roughly welded from a discarded maintenance cart tray, was gone.
In its place was a brand new, stable, small Ecclesiarchy altar.
The altar's base was welded from thick metal plates, sharply angled, exuding an undeniable sense of solidity.
Most striking was the altar's top: the faded, old canvas bearing the Imperial Aquila was gone, replaced by a true Imperial Aquila emblem, cast from cold, hard brass.
Though not large, its lines were clear and sharp, gleaming with a heavy metallic luster under the lights, silently emanating an inviolable majesty.
Immediately in front of this new altar's base, a metal plaque about half a person's height was placed.
The plaque was made of solid material, its edges finely cut and polished, and its surface smooth and flat.
At this moment, Sister Figgsin stood solemnly before the metal plaque, holding a portable laser etching pen.
Under countless gazes intertwined with surprise, confusion, and finally converging into silent anticipation, she activated the etching pen.
A subtle but sharp blue beam of light focused precisely on the metal plaque's surface, emitting a faint hiss, accompanied by a fine mist of vaporized metal.
Her movements were steady and focused, her armored fingers precisely controlling the beam, as if performing a solemn ritual.
Where the beam moved, lines of clear High Gothic script were permanently etched—the names of the three Mutant residents who had sacrificed themselves the previous night during the Chaos remnant attack, to prevent arson and protect their fellow D-7 Sector inhabitants and facilities.
When the last letter was etched, Figgsin did not stop.
She moved the beam, and below the names, in a slightly smaller font, began to etch another line of text:
"They sacrificed themselves in the chaos of the disturbance to protect their home. Their blood is not cold, their will not extinguished."
The air seemed to solidify, only the hiss of the etching pen remaining.
Then, a suppressed, heavy gasp rose from the crowd.
All the Mutant residents held their breath, silently gazing at the metal plaque inscribed with names before the altar's base, and the new brass Aquila above it.
The names of the fallen!
For the first time, so solemnly inscribed, placed beneath a true Ecclesiarchy altar!
Although the metal plaque itself was simple and unadorned, its position, the solemn Aquila above it, and the one who etched it, gave it a weight like thunder!
It silently declared: the actions of these departed were intimately linked to the survival and protection of D-7 Sector!
They were inscribed on the periphery of Imperial order.
The light reflected on the metal plaque, the newly etched names and inscription reflecting a steadfast and solemn luster; the brass Aquila above cast a stern shadow.
Together, they and the cold majesty of the Imperial maxims on the wall formed a weighty tableau.
Figgsin swiftly put away the laser pen, without giving any speech.
As if completing a predetermined duty, she stepped back, resuming her posture of overseeing the prayers.
However, her gaze lingered on the inscribed plaque embedded before the altar's base for longer than usual.
Old Cripple's blood-soaked roar from the previous night seemed to still echo in her ears, but now it solidified into this cold metal symbol before her.
The flames of the previous night had purged the old shadows, and this morning's inscription placed beneath the altar was like a cornerstone embedded in the foundation of D-7 Sector's new order, carving a heavy and resilient mark for this future built on blood and fire.
A profound bond, born of shared resistance against Chaos and the defense of home, quietly solidified between the cold Imperial altar and the suffering, mutated bodies.
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