Sister Ignatia’s scream echoed across the smouldering battlefield. Her finger still held a white knuckle grip on her heavy flamer, now drip drained to the dregs and bleeding a thin trickle of burning fuel into a small puddle, aflame at her feet.

“Tell me, Sister...”

Startled, Ignatia snapped round, bringing her spluttering weapon to bear on the location from which she had heard the sound. No flame, just a smattering of glowing droplets showered in a wide sickle arc about her axis. It was Grey Knight Justicar Vayne. The two static figures stood alone amidst the smoking ruin of the battlefield observing a single drop of burning fuel which had found its mark upon Vayne’s left forearm. It burned out harmlessly to a smoking cinder leaving a tiny char on his sacred and ancient suit of power armour. He raised his glance and beheld the Battle Sister once more, and again dared an utterance.

“Tell me, Sister, which burns the hotter? Your war torch or your righteous battle fury?”

Ignatia relinquished her iron grip and let the full weight of her battle burden drop with a heaving sigh.

“Battle Brother...” she replied breathlessly as she approached. “Both require fuel. My fury is fuelled by faith, a reserve that will never run dry, but this torch” she indicated her huge heavy flamer, “my tank is empty. “ With a wry smile she reached out a slender finger and smudged the promethium char spot from his armour. “Just as well.”

She turned away and trudged gracelessly through the carnage, her heavy flamer slug loose on her back, clunking noisily against her armoured legs. It had been a bloody and hard fought battle, they were the last warriors standing but this was no victory. After a long minute she paused and turned back to the awestruck Knight. “Well? Are you coming?”