The howling airflow tore at the Valkyrie transport's armor plating, emitting a piercing shriek.
Through the narrow observation window, a cold, hard, steel-gray landscape rapidly expanded—the massive main structure of New Earth Island Airport loomed in the mist, with huge steel jetties below and busy tugboats swarming like ants, outlining the bustling silhouette of this orbital hub.
Scorched ruins were visible everywhere on the metal surfaces, silently telling of the fierce fires of purification not long ago.
Inside the cabin, the air was a mix of metal coolant and sacred incense.
The bulkhead lights flickered, illuminating the solemn figures of the Sisters of Battle.
A Battle Sister Squad sat upright, conducting their final silent prayers and equipment checks before landing.
Their Commander, Captain Figgsin, stood by the closed hatch.
Her calm gaze was as sharp as a hawk's, piercing through the porthole, scanning this unfamiliar node—a critical outpost that had only recently been thoroughly purified by holy fire and steel.
Experience told her that in places like this, the air must still be permeated with the blasphemous stench of charred aliens.
This imagined "purified air," in the perception of the devout, was both a hymn to the Emperor's victory and a silent warning for eternal vigilance.
Figgsin's lips moved silently, muttering ancient prayers in her heart: "Holy Emperor above, grant your humble servant eyes of insight to see through the defilement in the shadows; grant us fearless hearts to purge all forms of blasphemy.
May your holy flames guide our steps, purify this place, and forever secure the Imperial territory."
She unconsciously twitched her nose, as if she could already smell the invisible threat, wanting to brand this warning along with the prayer deep into her soul.
Ten years of campaigns, from her probationary years on Rostov II to countless burning battlefields, had long since stripped away her naivete, tempering her into steel.
Countless times facing the disasters and betrayals brought by Mutants had forged the steel will settled in her eyes, and her absolute vigilance against any form of contamination and her deep concern for deviations from the pure form of humanity.
The roar of battle, the cries of martyrs, the flames burning alien nests, and the scars etched upon her body had collectively shaped this battle-hardened Sister of Battle Captain.
Her image was unique among the Sisters of Battle.
She did not carry Chainsword or flamers symbolizing close-quarters purification at her waist or on her back.
Instead, she had two large, well-used but meticulously maintained Bolters.
One was slung by her right leg, its body etched with the intricate rose patterns of the Sacred Rose Convent; the other was carried horizontally across her back, its stock slightly worn, with a small, clear line of Gothic letters carved into the foregrip—fiona.
The bloody battle in the Rostov II crypt, the hateful metallic faces of the aliens, and the last gleam in fiona's blue eyes were deeply etched in her memory like a brand.
This heavy Bolter was the weapon fiona clutched in her last moments of life.
The instant that blue-eyed sister bought with her life made this steel creation transcend the scope of a mere weapon.
It became Figgsin's undying vow, an eternal memorial to her fallen comrades, and a tangible embodiment of her constant vigilance and insight into threats.
She had long grown accustomed to the weight of the twin guns; they were her most loyal companions, silent witnesses to her dual calling—to defend the faith and purge heresy.
She slightly flexed her fingers, covered in ceramite plates, feeling the power contained beneath the armor, enough to wield this destructive force.
Ten years of battlefield baptism had enabled her to use these twin guns with unparalleled skill, precision, and lethality—to crush any existence that threatened the Imperium.
"This aircraft has arrived at New Land Island Tai Kong Port, estimated landing in three minutes," the pilot's calm report came over the comms.
"Received," Figgsin's voice was clear and steady, with a hint of icy sternness, cutting through the engine's roar: "New Earth Island Airport is a critical node for the Rostov Expedition's material transfer, and a territory recently desecrated by aliens, urgently needing stabilization.
We are here to support Great Sister Katarina; her fires of purification are unquestionable."
Her tone became resolute, like a command struck on metal: "Remember the blood and fire of the past! Remember the cunning of the aliens! Piety as armor! Faith as blade! Prepare to execute the mission! Maintain order, purge all signs of corruption!"
"For the Emperor! The Holy Emperor is supreme!" The uniform response was full of power, and a resolute flame burned in the eyes of every Battle Sisters.
Figgsin's gaze fell out the window again; the full view of the airport was now clear.
Turrets stood dense, anti-aircraft beams pointed skyward, and the giant Imperial Aquila symbol shone on the main buildings.
She could see some small figures working at the edge of the charred ruins below—Mutants, those beings existing in the shadows.
Inquisitor Chen Xi's new policy…tolerance? Management? A strong sense of apprehension welled up deep within Figgsin.
To contain contamination rather than completely purge it, in her view, was like building a fragile barrier at the edge of an abyss, with hidden dangers below that could spread at any moment.
This contradicted the Adepta Sororitas's creed of ultimate purification.
But obedience to orders was duty, especially when facing a Governor and Inquisitor.
An Inquisitor's directives must be executed most thoroughly.
She would remain on high alert, closely monitoring those "managed" areas; any conclusive sign of contamination spreading would invite the purifying flames of her and her sisters—this was an iron rule, inviolable.
The cold wind seemed to carry something else—not physically terrifying aliens, but…subtle, ethereal scents, the fear and confusion permeating the hearts of countless mortals.
This invisible unease also plucked at her vigilant heartstrings.
Mutation and despair, she knew, were the breeding grounds for Chaos.
Therefore, in this airport, Figgsin's presence was a sword hanging over the shadowy settlements, constantly scrutinizing every corner.
She felt the coldness of the metal transmit through her armor to her palm—she had subconsciously tightened her grip on the Aquila pendant on her chest.
That hard, clear touch brought a sense of almost ingrained steadfastness.
The Valkyrie transport's engines gave one last low growl, and its massive body settled gently onto the heavy landing pad.
Figgsin felt a slight tremor through the soles of her armored boots, which was then interrupted by the sharp hiss of the hatch's hydraulic system.
The moment the hatch opened, a gust of cold wind with a peculiar smell rushed in—a faint, persistent odor of charred protein immediately replaced the circulating air in the cabin, reminding her of the blood and fire this place had recently endured.
Figgsin was the first to step onto the cold deck of New Earth Island Airport.
In the dim light, her silver Power Armor reflected a cold gleam, and her footsteps on the metal floor made solid, rhythmic soft sounds.
She did not rush to speak, her sharp gaze slowly moving, scrutinizing the welcoming party before her.
Local officials wore expressions of almost numb reverence, while the guards appeared tense.
Her gaze extended further, and shivering figures in the cold wind came into view, their gazes a mix of instinctive awe and undisguised fear—the state of ordinary citizens often best revealed the true atmosphere of a place.
The faint but persistent charred smell in the air, while signifying the cost and victory of purification, also suddenly tightened the string of vigilance in her heart.
New Earth Island, this cold airport just cleansed by fire but implementing new policies, must not become a new prey for Chaos.
As a Battle Sisters Captain, Figgsin deeply understood the heavy burden on her shoulders: her promise to her fallen sisters, her insistence on the inviolability of human purity, all drove her to maintain the highest degree of vigilance here.
"Mission brief," her voice was not loud, but it clearly carried to the Planetary Defense Force officers in the cold wind, concise as a drawn blade.
Her questions went straight to the core: the special "residents" of Sector D-7, and the specific scope and extent of the support required by Great Sister Katarina.
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