For many, fighting in YWHW’s name is an act of zealous reverence, driven by piety and sacred visions of the battlefield. These Trench Pilgrims don iron capirotes as marks of their fearlessness and form processional warbands under the booming loudhailers of supernaturally resilient War Prophets. By their side march lumbering Communicants, giants mutated by their consumption of holy blood, and Stigmatic Nuns, lightning fast combatants who draw blessed power from wounds that would lay others low.