Chapter Content
Once the shells were moved into position, they weren't simply shoved into the breeches.
Each round was the size of a ground-car, resting on a reinforced plasteel rack. The Canon-Preceptor, flanked by a dozen chanting acolytes, began the Ritual of the Sanctified Ballistics. They circled the massive iron slugs, swinging censers that filled the vaulted chamber with a thick, choking fog of sacred incense.
As the litanies reached a crescendo, several novices produced quills and pots of sanctified ink, frantically scribbling holy wards and anti-daemon hexes directly onto the metal casings. Red votive candles were melted onto the shells' noses, their small flames flickering against the cold steel.
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