Iron Wings sliced through the twisting space. The women in black armor bearing golden fleur-de-lis emblems carried fire in their hands, raining death upon the ragged, starving Mutant worshippers. They paid no heed to the stampedes, falls, pleas, screams, and curses born of the worshippers' panic, continuing to pull their triggers and spray thick, scalding fuel into the densest parts of the crowd.
Muscle, fat, and bone produced vast clouds of heavy smoke as they burned. Through the high-precision thermal imaging mode of their Tactical Scopes, they could see the panicked, tightly packed bodies of the Mutant worshippers being burned into withered charcoal within the flames. Those not yet touched by the fire crowded onto the steep stairs, pleading with the Battle Sisters wearing Iron Wings—yet any words spoken by Mutants received only one response—dense volleys of bolt shells crashed into the worshippers on the iron stairs. Thunderous blasts exploded through the hollow underground chamber, while chunks of corpses and torrents of blood poured like waterfalls from the suspended side of the iron steps. Then, several sections of those steel stairs, spiraling along the outer wall and once used to transport workers, were softened and burned through by the fire. The Power Armor's Enemy-Friend Identification System and thermal imaging tracked hundreds of flashing red dots as they fell into the abyss alongside spent bolt casings, like a torrential rain.
Tita did not look back at the Mutants plummeting past her.
Time seemed to slow. She knew the terrified, wide eyes of that Mutant had seen her. Even though it was still alive, roaring through a herbivore-like mouth and waving its malformed hooves, even as falling bolt casings smashed against its damaged skull, Tita had no intention of wasting even a shred of attention on a Mutant marching toward death. Its