Compared to Leonardo's sharp, unstoppable style, Lucia's way of fighting is often simpler and more brutal.
Clad in golden Power Armor, she unfurled the white wings on her back and, like a meteor wrapped in gravity, slammed straight into the Greenskin charge.
Wherever she passed, Orks were left dead or maimed, the ground a shambles of broken bones and shattered limbs.
As both a Living Saint and a Reality Warper, Lucia's unshakable faith let the Emperor's psychic might roar through her, forging a thick shield around her body.
The stray bullets pelting her were useless; only tank-grade shells warranted a parry from her storm shield.
An Ork tank marked this deadly prey and barrelled straight for her, turret swivelling wildly.
The battle-wagon, souped-up by a Mek Boy, sported two huge metal pincers on its prow, spikes gleaming coldly—clearly meant to snap Lucia in half.
Lucia paid it no heed and charged head-on.
The massive pincers snapped shut, only to be shattered into scraps by the thunder of her swinging blade.
Next, Lucia rammed her relic storm shield square into the tank's front plate!
Boom!
A heavy detonation rang out; concentric shock-waves blasted away from the impact, the deafening boom flinging a dozen nearby Greenskins sky-high.
Inside the driver's hatch the Ork frantically slapped a big red button; the engine, built from unknown tech, howled in fury yet could not budge the slender prawn an inch.
Lucia said nothing. The teeth of her Chainsword screamed, then bit deep into the armour; bracing her foot, she wrenched upward with colossal force.
Under the mixed stares of terror, awe, frenzy and devotion from surrounding Greenskin Boys, the hulking Ork tank was hurled skyward like a toy, traced a graceful arc, crashed down and bowled over swathes of Orks and light vehicles like a giant bowling ball.
"…Dat's just too Waaaagh!"
The Greenskin Boys, far from frightened, grew wilder at the sight and threw themselves at Lucia—only to be cut down with ease.
"Brutal.
Adam, watching Leonardo and Lucia reap a bloody whirlwind through the Ork lines, couldn't help but admire.
He stood at the very centre of the position, shielded by Sibylla and a wall of a dozen Astartes who formed a tight cordon around him.
Even as he spoke, Adam drew the Caladbolg and gave a lazy flick of the wrist.
The blade wasn't aimed at any Ork, but at an Astarte lying on the ground nearby.
That Astarte's Power Armor was cracked like a spider's web, the splits revealing only emptiness inside.
Golden Emperor-flames rose, wrapping the entire suit; in an instant it re-knitted, shards flying back together, every fissure gone without trace.
The silent Astarte stood, scooped up his bolter and strode back into the roaring guns ahead.
Adam, after all, felt no rush to tear apart the Ork line alongside the Custodians and Living Saint.
No matter how much stronger he'd grown, he never forgot that his physical body was still roughly that of an ordinary man.
Even if Reality Warping let him move faster than sound, glare enemies to death, or maybe block a super-heavy tank shell with a thought—none of it was licence to charge recklessly into the thick of the foe.
The consequence of losing one's head had been amply shown by a certain primarch of the Thirteenth—throat slit, left to sleep ten millennia in a stasis field, only to wake and debug the mountain of code he'd once written; a tale to make any listener weep.
Even Sibylla, an Alpha Psyker perfectly suited to AoE devastation on such a chaotic field, was right now guarding his safety.
Yet while Adam felt no hurry, someone—or something—did.
A hulking Ork Boss in a Commissar's coat, seeing two gleaming shrimp carving through the horde, twisted its already ugly mug into a snarl.
"Dis won't do!"
"Plenty o' Boyz, but not endless—we can't let dem shrimp butcher us fer free. Gotta break dis!"
It pondered a second, then bellowed to grab every nearby Greenskin's gaze, crushed a few skulls with a huge mechanical claw for good measure, and lumbered straight for the golden prawn sporting the big white wings.
"I'm da sneakiest!
"Dat feathery-wing gold-prawn looks flashy, but she ain't as big an' bulky as da udder shiny git—must be soft!
"You're da one!
"Oi! Come fight Kurzadh!"
It roared, hoping to catch the eye of the golden blur rampaging through the tide of green.
The Boyz around, spotting the mega-armoured boss acting so "Waaagh", turned their gazes full of awe and eager anticipation.
The attention flooded Kurzadh with delight; invisible strength surged through its muscles, swelling its frame a notch.
Out on the chaotic field, Lucia hadn't noticed the armoured boss at first.
She was simply wondering…
"Why aren't these stupid xenos queuing up to die any more?
But as the Greenskins opened a wide ring, she quickly spotted the hulking Ork Boss posturing at her in open challenge.
"Ah, so that's it."
Once a Canoness of the Order of the Martyr Saintess, Lucia had dealt with Orks before; an idea formed at once.
She did something that made every Greenskin nearby breathe heavier, eyes turning blood-shot.
She deliberately planted her Chainsword and storm shield in the dirt, letting go of both.
"She's lookin' down on us!
Snarling like a bull, the Ork Boss lowered its head, ready to charge.
Lucia ignored it; with a beat of her wings she shot a dozen metres, landing atop a wrecked looted-wagon.
Her armoured fingers punched through the plating, locking on the frame.
Then, under the frozen stare of the armoured boss, she gave a calm flap—and lifted the hundred-tonne wreck clean off the ground!
"By Gork an' Mork…
The only thing Kurzadh managed before the massive shadow blotted it out, then came the crushing impact of the wagon slammed straight down!
"Aaaargh!!
Lucia's war-cry rang as her fists hammered the roof, buckling solid steel, caving it inward—she ground the xeno beneath into paste, blood oozing through the seams while the metal shrieked and crumpled!