The creature before them was no trembliic or defiant mob. It was a Daemon. Its skin was a deep, hellish red, its goat-like horns twisting upward from its grotesque head. Sinful fmes flickered in its eyes, and its forked tongue flickered like that of a serpent. Shark-like teeth glinted as it s the nuns, and an aura of palpable malice filled the room.

  Daemon spoke—not in the crude obsities of mortals, but irue nguage of Chaos. The words were alive with curses, each sylble a desecration of reality itself. It pointed a single cwed fioward a novice standing near Elizabeth. The girl’s bolter cttered to the ground as her body vulsed violently. Her scream was cut short as her blood began to boil, literally, within her veins. Steam hissed from her skin, and red mist seeped from her eyes, ears, and nose. Moments ter, she colpsed, lifeless.

  Daemon griurning its gaze toward another Sister. Sister Lysandria, the team leader, stepped forward, raising her voice above the dread-filled silence. “Faith is your prote!” she shouted. “The Emperor’s words are your shield!” Her vi was not in vain. A golden light enveloped her armor, the holy radiance of the Emperor’s divine prote burning away Daemon’s foul sorcery. The misty bck tendrils of the creature’s power retreated, uo touch her. “No Daemon may harm the Emperor’s daughters!” Lysandria cried. “Fire, Sisters! Do not fear—od watches over us! Shoot!”

  The bolt guns roared to life. Fmethrowers unleashed streams of holy fire, and the air was thick with the sound of explosions and the acrid stench of promethium. Shells and fmes poured toward Daemon, but to no avail. Its crimson flesh seemed to swell, its muscles hardening like iron. Bolt rounds failed to pee, and even the searing fmes did little more than sis skin.

  The Sisters faltered. ‘What manner of monstrosity was this?’ Even ceramite and steel would have crumbled under su onsught, yet Daemon stood, unscathed, a grotesque smile on its face. In an instant, it disappeared.

  The moment, it reappeared behind Sister Spike. Daemon crouched, gripping the powerful Sister with one hand on her shoulders and the other ohigh. With terrifying ease, it twisted her body as if wringing out a rag. Her legs coiled unnaturally, bones snapping, and Daemon tossed her aside like a broken doll. The Sisters fought valiantly, but the battle quickly devolved into chaos. The room became a cacophony of r bolters, jetting fmes, and shouts of desperation. The Sisters were overwhelmed, their faith unyielding but their strength insuffit. One by ohey fell.

  Elizabeth’s body smmed into the er of the room, Daemon’s massive hand striking her like a hammer. The impact twisted her limbs into unnatural angles, and her vision blurred before darkness ed her. When she regained sciousness, she couldn’t feel her body. Pain radiated from every joint, but she forced herself to breathe, testing her wrists and ankles. Slowly, she realized she could still move, albeit barely.

  Her bolter y a short distance away, just out of reach. She imagined herself lunging frabbing the on, and firing at Daemon. She envisioned charging it with a phosphrenade, hoping to take the creature down with her. But no matter how many sarios she ran through her mind, they all ehe same way: her death and Daemon’s survival.

  Elizabeth remained motionless. Fear rooted her to the spot, whispering insidious justifications into her mind. ‘Daemon is too powerful. It killed us so easily. It treated us like is. What ce do I have?’

  Even in the heat of the battle, Daemon had fought with an almost casual cruelty, its pt for the Sisters pin in every movement. Their sacred ons, their prayers, their faith—it had mocked them all. The disparity in strength was so vast that it felt like a cruel joke. ‘You’re just a mortal, a weak woman in the face of this monstrosity. What could you possibly do?’ Elizabeth’s thoughts spiraled deeper into despair. She jured a thousand reasons to justify her ina, eaore ving tha. But deep down, she khe truth. She could think of a huhousand excuses, and they wouldn’t ge a thing. Her fear wasn’t logical—it rimal. A, bravery doesn’t need logic. ‘You coward,’ a voice screamed in her mind.’ Have you fotten the sacred words of the Emperor? Cowards will die of shame! Stand up and fight!’

  The words burned into her heart like fire. Elizabeth ched her teeth, her breath ragged. Slowly, she extended her hand toward the bolter. Daemon’s monstrous form loomed before her, oblivious to her movement. Its cruel ughter echoed in the room as it toyed with the remains of her Sisters. Her fingers brushed the etal of the bolter, and in that moment, a spark ignited within her. Not hope—hope was a fragile, fleeting thing—but rage. The righteous fury of a daughter of the Emperor. ‘For the Emperor, ‘she thought, her grip tightening on the on. ‘For my Sisters. For humanity.’ Not all warriors are fearless, and not all nuns are unshakable in their loyalty. The Imperium has its share of weak links, and Elizabeth realized, with dawning horror, that she might be one of them.

  Among the Sisters lost was Eryndis, a senior nun Elizabeth had always admired. She was everything Elizabeth aspired to be—kind, passionate, a mentor to newers, and a stalwart warrior otlefield. Eryndis had been the warmth in the grim, cold reality of their crusades. She had treated Elizabeth with gentle care, guidihrough the trials of their shared serviow, she was unreizable. Her broken body y on the ground, stripped of dignity, Daemon having torn it apart with grotesque indifference. Her legs had been bitten off, her torsed, and her once-kind face twisted iernal agony. The sight twisted something inside Elizabeth.

  Nearby, Sister Marcellia was still alive, though barely. Her face was a mangled mess, her limbs torted in impossible dires. Daemon had discarded her like a broken toy, and now she y moaning weakly, her words i. Elizabeth tried to suppress her anguish. ‘Do not look, do not hear, do not think.’ She repeated the words like a mantra, but the nightmarish reality seeped through.

  Then she heard new sounds—footsteps, a woman’s voice murmuring strange, agonized words. Elizabeth opened her eyes just a crack, dreading what she might see. Her worst fears were realized. Suspended in the air by vile, writhing appendages was Sister Lysandria, their leader aor. Lysandria had been a paragon of faith, her vi unyielding, her strength an inspiration to all under her and. The Emperor’s light had shone brightly through her, aeadfast belief had given hope even in the darkest of battles.

  Now, that light was gone. Daemon had ensnared her with grotesque, vine-like appewo ed tightly around her arms, pulling her upward, while others held her legs apart, suspending her in midair like a mockery of the Imperial Aqui. Lysandria’s power armor, once a shiniament to her devotion, was broken and discarded.Elizabeth’s heart sank. How could this happen? Lysandria had been their leader, their protector, a warrior blessed by the Emperor Himself. She had prayed with unshakable resolve, and her faith had always carried them through. Yet here she was, desecrated and broken, a mere pything for Chaos. ‘How could she fall? How could she abandon her duty?’