Stukov was still kneeling on the ground, having managed to inform Boss about the captured heretic leader Maltheus. As soon as he could speak he would continue to inform Boss about what he had discovered down here. The important fact, though, was that the cult leader was in their hands now. His head throbbed painfully, and he could still hear more voices than speakers were present in the room, but he could not say a word about it. Damn warp spawned place like this probably was affecting everyone like he was being affected, unaware that this was most certainly wrong. Only one other person would have noticed but they had training he did not. But he was doing the best to shut out the voices as the two medical Sisters walked over, offering their services to get him out of the room and patched up. He slowly forced himself onto his feet, leaving a fair amount of his own blood on the ground as he stood. Between that last ditch effort by the daemon to sap all their blood, and his own exertions drawing far too much blood from the internal damage, the Armsman was lucky he was still standing. Add in the internal trauma, fractured and probably broken bones, and stress from the exhaustion, it was a miracle in and of itself that the man was able to stand under his own power at all. Far too stubborn for his own good, that much was apparent to the fellow Sisters of Sis's order.

When the cry went out about the Prisoner escaping, he was aware it wasn't Maltheus since he was still securely right here. He tried to run out after the prisoner, but not a half dozen steps did his body finally force him to collapse, dropping to his knees and wheezing, blood and bits of more solid material left on the ground. Boss decided that it was time to get back to a safehouse and recover. He would be detouring to a medical facility to have an augmatic voice box and his injuries bound and set properly. Say what you will about the Inquisition, the Armsman thought, he had heard rather legendary tales of the amount of equipment available to not only extend their lives, but maintain bodies in the primes of their lives. Glancing down at his crude augmatic lower leg, the fighting had torn his trousers enough to reveal that much, he slowly stood up under the firm grasp and care of the two nurses, power armor would ensure he had not tried to run off again as they carefully marched him off for treatment. Boss would have to send coordinates to the Armsman so he could catch up later, after treatment.