Doggie Is Her Favourite Style

Roxy lay still, her body exhausted, her purpose fulfilled. “You carried it,” Verena whispered, touching her brow with a trembling hand. It is not clean. A member of the Adepta Sororitas, Roxy once stood tall in power armor, her voice rising in hymn as bolter fire thundered in righteous fury. No weapons. No tools. But worse than pain was the silence she had to hold. “This has never been done. “Where?”

Her voice cracked. “Inside. The belt muffled it only slightly as the edges of the capsule stretched her farther than she thought possible. The pain was unspeakable. It may break you.”

Roxy, pale and resolute, nodded. Those who served with her never forgot. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, lips whispering the Litany of Suffering. “This has never been done. Between them lay the object: a power core encased in sanctified adamantium, roughly the size of a gauntleted fist.