Shorter, but it made more sense to me to keep this seperate


"In the Name of the Emperor, I scourge the evil from my tainted flesh..."

Repentia Tarla threw her arm back, bringing the arco-flog over her shoulder in a long, lazy arc. The electro-tips of the torture device scored across her flesh, lips drawing back over yellowed teeth in a hiss of held pain. Letting her arm go limp, she savored the pain. Pain was a cleansing fire that washed the unclean and impure away.

The besmirched Sororitas was practically nude, kneeling on the cold steel floor of her Naval transport's chapel. Her body was covered in bare strips of yellowed and ragged parchment. Blood-red ink listed her many sins and heresies, as well as the names of martyrs holier than she could hope to be. Her fellow Repentia had left after their morning two-hour flogging had been complete. Tarla remained. Her sins could not be expunged so easily.

The pain had slowly subsided. She knew better than to constantly whip at her scarred back. The white-haired amazon was an expert at pain; she waited between lashes, so her new pain wouldn't fade into the old.

Her sins clawed at her mind, bringing blood-stained tears to her aquamarine eyes.

Slaaneshi cultists had infiltrated deep into the bowels of an agri-world, and her convent was the fastest to respond. With faith and fire she and her sister expunged the pleasure-seeking heretics, driving them back deeper and deeper into their only permanent city.

It was in that city that she found her damnation. She had been a proud Sororitas then, her blood-red armor and holy bolter the only tools she required to dispense the Emperor's justice.

During the purging of a gigantic joygirl brothel, Tarla had become separated from her squad by the collapse of a ceiling. Cut off from her sisters, she had to find another way out of the tainted building.

The winding halls of the brothel held many delights for the mortal mind - murals depicting acts too debauched to contemplate, statues of almost unholy beauty, and a cloying, heady musk that invaded her nose and senses, whispering promises into her mind.

The heat inside her started as but a mere flicker. But as she stumbled from one room to another, her sense of direction lost in the tainted brothel, it began to grow into a fire the likes of which she'd never experienced. She oozed in her suit of armor, breasts painfully sensitive against the harsh, cool metal of her chestplate.

By the time she'd found her way out of that damnable place, she had been corrupted. Her breathing heavy, her eyes glazed, she stumbled into the open air through one of the back doors. The alleyway was dank and filthy, trash receptacle turned over and dirty children feeding from the scraps.

One of her sisters, Marzia, rushed towards her from the entrance to the alley, relief written on her young face. Dear Marzia, with her flaming red hair and soft, pouted lips. The novitiate had barely uttered a sound before the corrupted Tarla was on her, pressing a lecherous kiss to those tempting lips.

Tarla flogged herself again, hissing once more and remembering her mind's corruption in those moments. She had wanted to strip Marzia of her ugly armor and enjoy her flesh in ways she couldn't even conceive. Even with her faith, that deeply corrupted joygirl house had corrupted her, and she would've raped the poor novitiate in that alleyway were it not for the appearance of the rest of her squad. Three of them had to wrestle Tarla from Marzia, and Tarla had only stopped struggling when their leader cracked her forehead with the butt of her bolter.

The Repentia raised her arm once more, meaning to flog herself again. A hard, callused hand wrapped around her wrist, making her gasp in surprise. So intent on reliving her shame, she'd not even heard the other enter the chapel.

"Why pretty lady hurt herself?" Tarla turned and looked up into the innocent, ugly face of an Ogryn. Half of his face had been taken up by augmetics, a clear sign that he was one of the so-called Bone 'eads. He wore a sweat-stained white shirt and a pair of dirty brown pants, permanently-unshined boots shifting about nervously.

"You wouldn't understand, Ogryn. Now release me..." Tarla finally choked out, her surprise dulling to a soft, simmering anger. Stupid creature, interrupting her like that. Tarla had never been one to fully accept abhumans. Ogryn were slightly more acceptable than Ratlings for their unshakable, if uncomplicated, faith in the Emperor.

The Ogryn released her as commanded, looking like a beaten dog who had been scolded by its master. Despite herself, Tarla felt a small pang for being angry at the big brute.

"You came to worship, then?" She asked.

The big brute nodded. "Yarp..."

Tarla shifted to the side and allowed the Ogryn some room to kneel before the large, golden effigy of the Emperor. The gigantic brute went to one knee next to her, washing her with that horrible, natural smell that was unique to his species.

"May dah Chaos men be crushed by dah Guard. In dah Emperah's name, amen..." The brute bowed his head before the golden statue, and Tarla could only laugh softly in bewilderment.

"That's it?" She asked, amused. She had memorized codex after codex of prayers, blandishments, and holy writ in her quest to become a Sororitas, and to hear so simple a prayer delivered so genuinely was oddly disarming.

The brute rose, his voice confused. "Yarp. Wot else is dere tah pray fer?"

Tarla could only shake her head in amusement. Perhaps this big brute had been sent by the Father as an omen, to show Tarla what true faith looked like. Ogryn were abhumans, yes, but the simple devotion this one showed seemed more real than any of the scripture and verse she'd memorized.

Not knowing why, she offered her name. "I'm Tarla, Sister Repentia..."

The Ogryn raised his left hand in a salute, coming to some semblance of attention.

"Gav Smith, Bone 'ead. At yer service, sistuh..."