Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 460 Treatment
The surface of the board instantly turned red-hot, its edges twisted and deformed, and countless scorching fragments and shock waves roared past from the sides and above!
But the metal plate stubbornly blocked the most deadly direct fire and most of the shrapnel flying towards the mutants!
At the same time, the other two combat nuns wielding explosive guns also turned their guns around!
"For the Emperor! Purify the heretics!" one of the nuns shouted sternly.

“Da da da da—!”

The barrage of explosives accurately struck several cultists who were trying to pounce out from the shadows on the side and take advantage of the chaos of the explosion to attack the mutants!
The scorching explosive instantly tore the attacker to shreds, turning him into splattered chunks of flesh and blood!
Under the cover of metal plates and with the support of explosive gun fire, the mutant narrowly escaped the most deadly impact!
Without the core support of the psionicists and the command of their leader, the remaining cultists collapsed instantly under the devastating explosion of the promethium jar and the ruthless and efficient attacks of the battle nuns. Their sporadic counterattacks were like candles flickering in the wind.

The combat nuns, their faces grim, steadily advanced the clearing operation with highly efficient and deadly crossfire.

After the bailiffs, with the help of the mutants, took care of the wounded, they quickly returned to the battlefield and launched a coordinated attack from the flanks, forming a relentless barrage with the nuns and swiftly eliminating the last remaining resistance.

The last gunshot at the B-7 pipe junction faded into silence, leaving only the crackling of burning embers, the stench of charred flesh, the acrid smell of burning promethium, and the faint echo of psionic energy emanating from the headless body of the psychic, dissipating rapidly like a candle in the wind.

The survivors of the bailiff squad helped each other up or leaned against the ruins of their bunkers, panting, their bodies covered in battle wounds and dust.

Nearby, the mutants who had assisted in the battle were also panting heavily, their bodies stained with dirt, silently watching the battlefield where the killing had just ended.

All eyes were fixed on the cold yet powerful figures illuminated by the embers—the battle nuns and the remains of the cultists at their feet, their gazes a mixture of exhaustion from surviving the catastrophe and profound awe.

Figsin deftly holstered the Rose Bomb Gun and "Fiona," his gaze sweeping across the battlefield, confirming the purification of every inch of the battlefield.

Her gaze pierced through the billowing smoke and finally settled on the scene at the edge of the explosion: two wounded men, dragged back by Sula and another battle nun, were leaning against the cold pipe wall, panting.

One of them was a bailiff, whose face was as white as a sheet due to excessive blood loss, and a gruesome laceration on his abdomen that was so deep that the bone was visible, clearly caused by an energy weapon or a sharp blade.

However, his blood-stained hands still gripped the blaster tightly, his gaze stubbornly fixed on the controlled promethium canisters, his eyes etched with relief and unwavering dedication to protecting them.

Just a few steps away from the bailiff, huddled, was an injured mutant.

He was a burly man with scales on his skin, but he was now hunched over in pain. One of his arms was burned raw by an energy weapon, and the strange color of the mutated tissue could be vaguely seen under the charred flesh. He was emitting suppressed groans.

Under the tense yet grateful gazes of the bailiffs and the silent watch of the other mutants, Figeshin made a move that surprised everyone.

Her armored body smoothly bent her knees to a half-kneel, the power armor's sophisticated servo system emitting a barely audible hydraulic hum as her knees lightly touched the metal floor covered in debris and scorch marks.

She quickly took out quick-acting coagulation foam spray and antiseptic bandages from her small medical bag at her waist.

Her armored fingers operate tools with swiftness and precision—countless battlefield rescues have ingrained this instinct into her very being, and the power armor's joints assist her movements as fluid as flowing water.

She treated the seriously injured bailiff first.

The wounded man's light armor, covering his entire body, was torn open with a gruesome gash, its edges charred and curled. Figesin's armored fingers easily peeled off the damaged armor, carefully cutting through the fibrous lining that held together flesh and blood, revealing a deep wound beneath that exposed bone.

With a soft hiss and a pungent medicinal smell, the quick-setting foam was precisely injected into the wound, expanded and hardened, and quickly stopped the bleeding.

Immediately afterwards, a roll of bandage was wrapped around the wound, completely covering it.

However, as her gaze swept over the mutant curled up in pain beside the bailiff, and she prepared to offer him the same assistance, she paused almost imperceptibly.

Treating a mutant's wounds... this is indeed a first.

Deep within her consciousness, the whispers of the Imperial doctrines instinctively resonated, carrying an unquestionable admonition, but the warrior's duty and the sense of identification with those she had just fought alongside instantly overwhelmed them. Without the slightest hesitation, she bent down and began to provide aid.

The scene before him was completely different from when he dealt with the bailiffs: there was no protective armor, only tattered and dirty rags, clinging tightly to the mutant's arm where the skin had been torn open by the energy weapon.

Figesin's armored fingers carefully and steadily peeled away the charred, sticky fabric, completely exposing the gruesome burn wounds beneath.

The instant she pressed the spray button—

"Hiss—!" A large amount of white, rapidly coagulating foam, carrying a pungent medicinal smell, suddenly gushed out, instantly covering the bloody, mangled wound! The foam rapidly expanded and hardened, emitting a series of dense crackling sounds, as if the burning pain was forcibly suppressed by this cold, hard shell.

The extreme coldness directly acting on the exposed wound, coupled with the sudden sight, caused the burly male wounded man with mutated scales to shudder violently! A roar, a mixture of excruciating pain and utter shock, burst uncontrollably from his throat!

He looked down in disbelief as the armored hands steadily and efficiently wrapped bandages around his mutated arm—this direct and effective treatment was a world apart from the countless times he had experienced being roughly driven away or treated even worse by bailiffs.

The initial fear faded in his eyes, replaced by deep confusion and a faint, extremely humble hope that he himself was unaware of.

The initial fear melted away in his eyes, replaced by deep confusion and a faint, extremely humble hope that he himself was unaware of.

The other mutants watched this incredible scene in silence, their heavy breathing seemingly frozen, an indescribable tension and astonishment filling the air.

Figsin remained unmoved.

She precisely covered and wrapped the bandage over the foam, ensuring a secure and tight bandage.

The entire process was silent, except for her steady and focused breathing, which was particularly clear through the helmet's filter in the relatively quiet battlefield.

(End of this chapter)