Maskierte Männer schießen ihre Ladungen in das Gesicht einer Schlampe

The pressure was overwhelming. Between them lay the object: a power core encased in sanctified adamantium, roughly the size of a gauntleted fist. Caelen stood over her, full height restored. No armor. But in a galaxy that grinds even saints to dust, her greatest act of service would come not from battle — but from surrender. No weapons. Her pride shattered. But he looked up as she entered. “You carried it, child.”

Roxy said nothing. Just a kneeling woman, lit by a single beam of light, her hands on her belly, eyes raised in prayer. Caelen stood over her, full height restored. He looked at her, still convulsing on the floor, and for once, the mighty Astartes could not find words. She did not scream. Verena whispered prayers as she worked — half to comfort Roxy, half to steel herself. She endured, because there was no choice.