@jbeil@Andreyich@Kratesis@BCTheEntity

'Inquisitor, are you hurt?'

Kliment peered up from where he had found himself, and up...and up...apparently it was the overly large Hospitaller that had found him; as he looked up at the armoured Amazon, all he could think – ignoring the pain in his bruised but not missing arm – was that he must truly be blessed by the God-Emperor.

“No, Sister Christina,” he said, deliberately using her name even in the heat of battle, “my armour took the brunt of the explosive blast, Emperor be praised, we need to get mov-”

The explosion a mere few feet away was enough to catch the attention of the Emperor's powerful servant, the older man struggling to rise and watching with a look of disgust as their former attackers now sought to realign themselves with the world around them, the twin grenades having landed dead centre and scattered them thoroughly.

Unnoticed, at least by Kliment, was that the heavy stubber had ceased its constant barrage...and that the elevator door beyond the now disjointed squad of heretical Stormtroopers had opened.

Streaming from the entranceway were figures bearing the Aquila upon their flak, lasguns held ready in their hands and bayonets affixed, soldiers of the Athegan Twenty-Seventh by the looks of them – a senior and veteran regiment of Guardsmen, their uniforms of resplendent purple showing clearly beside the drab and dull uniforms of the unbelieving PDF troopers and their more heavily armed support.

After them came a singular squad - almost identical in appearance to those that had about to launch another missile in the direction of the Emperor's holy daughters – their Hellguns cutting down those adversaries that tried to resist. In the middle of the half-a-dozen elite fighters was a slender but powerful man, a las-pistol held in one hand and a cane helping to support him in the other. Though he moved slower than the rest, it was clear from his rod-straight back and keen eyes that he was no stranger to military service or warfare.

“Governor Heidric Von Behner,” breathed the Inquisitor as he took his place beside Alexa, “Sister, please be so kind as to gather what living prisoners you can and bring them to me. Get your fellows to help. By the Emperor's intervention and your skills as warriors, I believe this battle is won.”

Won it was, well and truly, the backbone of the heretics and renegades shattered into a thousand pieces and the arrival onto the platform of the Governor, and the remainder of the Sororitas, only solidifying the 'victory'.

All there was to do now was regroup, consolidate, and see what information could be gleaned from these traitors.

Just as suddenly as it had all begun, it came to a close. The fizz-hiss of lasgun fire and explosions all drew to a hush, the industrial noise of the planet's works and the sound of boots rattling on the ground replaced the noise of battle as a group of Guardsmen filed past, led by an esteemed-looking figure. Pride. You would do well to avoid a similar conceit, my child. Sprinting past them, she rejoined the Inquisitor, slightly charred but apparently none the worse for wear.

The groans of the wounded could not mask the whispering doubts in Lisbeth's mind; the Governor was under suspicion by His holy inquisition, and was therefore guilty, and the only question was to what degree his guilt ran. Were this not enough, he had - personally - arrived to deliver the Inquisitor and the arriving party from attack by traitors bearing the same uniforms as his own troops. What better way to hide one's own guilt by puporting to be a righteous servant? Surely, the Governor should have had far too many affairs of state to take care of to personally greet the Inquisitor, even in times of peace. Why would he take such a risk to come here - unless there was no risk at all? Already, Sister Dominica could see a web of heresy and suspicion whereby the Governor would set up his servants to die for him, allowing him to ride to the rescue of the very people sent to root out the heresy, and buy time to secure his evil grip over the people of this world.

No doubt the Inquisitor already saw all these threads of deceit, but Lisbeth felt compelled to give what reassurance she could; faith was strongest when surrounded by the faithful. Reloading her bolter deliberately,` she whispered, craning her neck to try and reach the elevated ear of the Inquisitor. "My Lord, this is suspiciously convenient. The man you are sent to investigate comes to your aid personally? I would..." The short warrior-sister trailed off, her eyes caught by something behind the inquisitor. Slumped behind a pile of bullet-holed barrels, the black-armoured form of one of the sisters of the Order of Our Thrice-Pierced Martyr, three holes punched into her armour, still smoking.

Quite forgetting herself, Lisbeth dashed over, coming to a stop on her knees beside her broken form. Before her, Sister Persephone lay, and no amount of shaking could rouse her; she was quite dead, and her gauntleted hand fell limp as Lisbeth held it in her own. Do not be saddened, my child, spoke the voice. She is now in my arms. Though she had seen death before, Lisbeth had never yet lost one of her own Sisters in battle, and even the knowledge that Persephone had assured her place in the pantheon of martyred saints was not enough to comfort her. More than anything, she wanted to wail, to scream, to curse the name of the heretics who had stolen her Sister from her and to beat her bloody fists against the floor - but it was not the time for mourning. Vengeance would have to suffice.

Vengeance. Lifting the rosaries from Persephone's body, Sister Lisbeth swore silently to atone for her failure to save her, tying them about her thigh and pulling herself back upright. There were orders to fulfil. Ignoring all those around her, she followed her instincts, her ears almost visibly pricking, searching for - aha!

A groaning survivor, trapped beneath the body of one of his fellows! Without a sound, Lisbeth pulled him out by his collar and dragged him back toward the Inquisitor and the rest of the party. "Inquisitor!" Her voice echoed through the docking bay before she dumped the heretic at his feet, planting a foot on his shoulder and pressing him into the ground, kneeling with a sneer. "Tell him everything he wants to know, or I swear on the Emperor's name, I will break every bone in your body and flay the skin from your flesh before I let you die," she said, in a quite matter-of-fact tone, blinking quickly to hide the moisture from her eyes.

The Inquisitor was alive, and supposedly well by his own word. At very least, he was able to talk, which meant he would survive until a proper analysis of his injuries could be taken. At the Inquisitor's order, Alexa moved off to begin his search... and she supposed she'd have to call to any Sisters who had not been near him when the order was given, since he'd asked that of her as well. At least she could make that part quick.

'Sisters! The Inquisitor seeks survivors out of the foes who have beset us,' she yelled, a voice that might otherwise be somewhat lacking re-amplified to booming by her for-once useful helmet vox. 'Seek them out and bring them to him!' And as for her, she'd already decided she would need to look for injured Sororitas as well, since she and a couple of others were the only ones who could help them; already, she had spotted Sister Persephone lying unmoving behind a stack of barrels, both riddled with bullet holes. Judging by the reaction of Sister Lisbeth as she knelt at the woman's side, Persephone was already dead and sitting by the Emperor's side, and she knew at least some others had suffered similar fates. Unfortunate, and Alexa would ensure that vengeance was taken against those who would slay them and theirs, if indeed any more such foes existed in this place.

For now, however, those who could be helped needed her attention; based on a quick headcount, it seemed just the one Battle-Sister needed any further attention, leaning back against a stack of crates and groaning to herself. Closer inspection, once Alexa had made her way over, found that there was a hole in her gut. Not a great place to get shot, but tolerable given rapid attention.

'Sister... I screwed up,' the Sororitas lying before her spoke. 'Those hellguns pack more of a punch than I expected.'

'You've done the best you can, and I'm certain you have much more to give,' Alexa replied, and was immediately back to cursing the deep voice emanating from beneath her helmet. Not soothing at all. Then again, the Sisters of Battle rarely needed soothing so much as healing. That in mind, the Hospitaller got to work, first cutting away the damaged armour plate, and then injecting an anaesthetic solution into her ally's flesh next to the wound. At the same moment, she scanned the injury site to establish the seriousness of the wound, and found that aside from one artery that had been nicked, bleeding profusely but outward, and a damaged liver, the Battle-Sister hadn't suffered too terrible a wound. Having cut away a section of flesh to reach the damaged areas, Alexa told her as much as she pulled the artery's walls back together and sealed them closed, a layer of medigel beneath the sealing agent ensuring they would heal rapidly.

'Oh, great, my liver. One of the most important organs in my body, and it has a hole in it,' she deadpanned, chuckling even as she drew a light laugh from Alexa. Emperor's mercy, she could be funny at times, even if she was typically dour in tone. That said, the hole through that and her flesh could be fixed easily enough; a few appropriate substance applications later, and it was practically like she'd never been shot at all! And, just a splash of sacramental oils to bless the healing process before patching the power armour up again with a spray of repair cement.

'Good as new, Sister,' Alexa uttered, standing up again and helping pull her ally to her feet. A word of thanks, and she was off on the hunt for further survivors, friend or foe; likewise, Alexa began to look around further, just in case another Sister had missed her sight, as well as any foes who might warrant the Inquisitor's attention.

The fighting was done and Vitruvia removed her helm, smelling the burned ozone and the stench of bolter propellant on the rapidly clearing smoke. Screams of dying renegades provided a worthy hymn of celebration.

Vitruvia took stock of the situation. The Inquisitor had gone down but seemed to be alive and if not well, then well enough to do the Emperor's work. Some Sisters were wounded but the Hospitiler Alexa was already providing aid. Another Sister, whom Vitruvia recognized as Elspeth, was already assisting the Inquisitor in interrogating a captive.

Vitruvia's lip curled in disgust. Not at the threats of torture (an agonizing death was better than the heretic deserved) but rather from an deep rooted repulsion at the thought of heresy, one buried so deep it was impossible for her to ever really articulate. It was like love; impossible to truly explain but a powerful motivator nonetheless.

It took an act of conscious will for Vitruvia to restrain herself from crossing the platform and blowing the renegades brains out.

That would not be in the interests of the God-Emperor. The Inquisitor needs information. Walk away.

And so she did, pausing only to kick a mortally wounded renegade in the jaw with such force her cermite boot shattered his teeth and punched his lips through the jagged shards of bone.

Her back to the interrogation she secured the area, eyes alert for signs of a second attack.. or betryal from the Governor and his suspiciously timely reinforcements.

@BCTheEntity@Kratesis@jbeil

Contrary to the suspicions of the Sororitas – not all that unfounded though, the arrival of the 'help' had been oddly fortuitous – Governor Von Behner and his forces moved as swiftly as they could to assist the Sisters and Inquisitor in whatever way they could; amethyst-clad medics located and treated casualties as best they could, their more martial comrades carried on to secure the perimeter, and others ventured to aid in gathering any living renegades for questioning.

“Inquisitor,” came a smooth and bass tone as Governor Heidric addressed Kliment, stepping forward to glance first at the apostate that Sister Elspeth had recovered and now placed her foot atop, then moving his patrician features toward Kliment once more, “it appears that your 'state visit' has turned a bit more lively than one would have hoped.”

Although he could not be sure, and there were few enough times when he was not, the Inquisitor swore he saw a look of fear somewhere deep within the Governors eyes. Oh he should be scared, something such as this had rattled the old man, especially now he had seen it for himself.

“It would appear so, Governor,” replied the Inquisitor with a grim expression, one hand pressing itself against his side as he gestured toward the prisoner, “would you know anything about this?”

The countenance of Von Behner and the expression upon it was nearly all the evidence that the God-Emperor's servant needed, the words of the man only reinforcing it, “good Inquisitor...I swear on the Throne that I know nothing of this, I-” he stammered for a moment, his mouth moving like a landed fish, “I am only glad that you survived and that I got here in time.” His eyes swivelled about to take in a number of black-armoured bodies, the man unconsciously making the Aquila over his chest, “there will be prayers and mourning rituals held for these brave Sisters, make no mistake of that.”

Satisfied, at least for the moment, the Inquisitor now turned to the heretic on the floor – the man appeared to be struggling, a Sergeant by the rank insignia on one of his arms, and he already knew that mere violence would not scare him.

“Hhhmm...”

He was young for a Sergeant, which was odd in itself, his green eyes opened wide – not with fear though...with something else.

“You bitch, get off of me!” Yelled the captive, squirming beneath the Sisters boot and foaming at the mouth, “I'll never talk to some Throne whore, so you can kiss my arse and kill me now.”

Clearly he would not break through sheer brute force alone, that much was clear from just looking at him, but there was a Hospitaller among them. These Sisters well knew how to heal, for that was their purpose when not standing beside their battle-sisters, yet they also knew how to inflict pain just as easily.

“Sister Christina,” called Kliment to the giantess of a woman, “if I may commandeer your attention for a moment?”

Taking a few steps away from the assembled welcoming committee, out of earshot of as it were, he waited for Alexa to approach before speaking.

“Sister, this one will not break through conventional means – I believe he must be persuaded. May I count on you and your...knowledge to pluck it out of him?”

Several more prisoners had been found in the mean time, including an enemy Stormtrooper who had been hurt pretty badly by the grenades tossed at him earlier, all would need to be 'seen to' eventually.

Whilst Alexa herself hadn't found any others to take prisoner or to heal up, plenty of others had been found. It was therefore no surprise to her when the Inquisitor called her over, and asked that she "persuade" the man, and most likely his fellow men when this one had given up all he needed to, or at least as much as he could. So far as she was aware, the Inquisition had a particular set of procedures for getting information out of a target; however, since what she had were Hospitaller tools, she'd have to start with those and move up from there... though if the Governor would be so kind as to lend her whatever assistance he had available, it'd speed everything along quite nicely. Speaking of which...

'Yes, Inquisitor. Shall I take the heretic to an interrogation chamber, sir,' she asked, glancing round at the man being held to the ground, 'or do you want me to make an example out of him now?' For if she interrogated him in front of the others who had sinned against the Emperor, some may be sufficiently convinced to repent, and to talk of what they knew, before she had to lay so much as a finger on any of them. Others may simply have their wills hardened against future torture, knowing what may be coming... and wouldn't that be a shame? It'd only make things harder on them, after all.

@Jbcool@Kratesis@jbeil@Andreyich

The Confessor turned to look at the youngling calling him by title in the midst of a pump on his shotgun. "No, now be a good dear and give the heretics some bolts, will you?" he said before continuing on. As the fight progressed he kept coming closer, using the (at the moment) more pressing concern of the bolts to the heretics to allow himself to get some wondrous breathing space with his shotgun and a few wonderful, meaty blasts leaving chunks of flesh and red human puree about.

As all was over, he stood triumphant and made sure to step on a few of the struggling figures who weren't quite dead with no qualms and not a hint of shame. He stared distastefully at the new arrivals, and indignantly shouted "Nice of you to come!" to von Behner and the assorted personnel he brought along.

"Sisters, Sisters! Good work!" he shouted once the medics and others of the planetary government got to work and were no longer paying attention. "But this goes to show that eternal vigilance is best, for even now a 'loyal' (the inflection quite obvious) world has some heretics within!"

He made a benediction upon all the faithful present, and then sighed with relief. "Lord, of those who you are finished with, may I have an... additional word with?" he shouted to Kliment with quite the bombastic voice.

While the Inquisitor addressed the Governor the Sister of Battle observed them carefully. She was not trained in the social arts of the Dialogus and so the Governor's behavior gave her now great clues but she found the timing of his arrival more and more suspicious with every passing moment. It took time to gather a squad of troops. Time to draw up a route. Time to travel. And Imperial Guard forces were not known for being paragons of efficiency and organization.

No. The Governor had been warned ahead of time. She was sure of it.

But it was not her place to pronounce guilt. That responsibility lay with the Inquisitor. So she remained silent, casually strolling around the perimeter and looking for any vehicle that the Guardsmen could have used to arrive. If she found one she would inspect it for evidence of wrongdoing or anything that seemed out of place.

'I think an example will be necessary,' the Inquisitor nodded. With that, Alexandra strolled over to the heretic on the ground, kneeling in front of him outside of his grabbing range. He attempted to spit at her, failing for distance. Usually, she was kindly, though the helmet often proposed otherwise; for this foe, she felt no such kindness.

'I'm going to be your Hospitaller today,' she spoke to him, somewhat coldly even without the helmet deepening her tone. 'Most of the tools I am about to show you are not designed to hurt, but to heal. That I can turn them to pain quite readily ought to make you scared of me.'

'Piss off, Throne bitch!'

'You're making things worse for yourself.' She showed him her chirurgeon's tools, flicking out her index finger to show off first the mono-edge knife, then the chain-knife attached to it. 'These two knives are designed for cutting through flesh and armour respectively. The former is quite capable of slicing chunks of flesh off of your body as needed. The latter will just turn your flesh to bloody pulp.'

'Go fuck yourself.'

'Next item, then.' Next, she extended her middle finger, and the needle stored within the end joint. 'This is typically used to inject anaesthetic during surgery. It can also inject much worse substances. Have you ever heard of Groxrush before?'

'I don't care, bitch.'

'It's a combat stimulant, designed to make the user as aggressive and fearless as an unlobotomised Grox without nullifying their intellect. Restraining somebody on this stim is apparently a horrible experience on account of excessive overstimulation.'

'When are you going to go away, bitch?'

'When you're cooperative. Next item.' She stuck her thumb out, showing off the gauze on the pad. 'This is used to debride burnt skin - remove it to prevent infection, that is. It's got a similar effect on perfectly healthy skin. Either way, it's exceptionally painful without anaesthetic.'

'You think your words are going to make me talk, you slut? They're as empty as your cu-'

She cut him off by grabbing the index finger of his right hand and snapping it back against itself, eliciting a scream of pain and shock. She hated casual violence like that, but considering the situation, she felt a limit to how much abuse he could try flinging back at her should be set. Before he could say anything else, she grabbed the finger she'd just broken and brought out the mono-scalpel.

'I'll start with your nails, and we can work our way up from there. Oooone...'

The knife practically glided through the flesh beneath the nail of his finger, separating the two with practiced ease. Not entirely, though. The nail remained attached at the cuticle, just so that she was able to bend it back enough to splinter the keratin, before jabbing the jagged edge into raw, bleeding flesh, only to messily yank the nail out at the root and through the already-damaged meat.

'Are you ready to talk?' Alexa asked the screaming cultist, tossing the nail aside.

'G-g-g-g-go fffff-'

'Twooooo...'

Again she grabbed a finger, this time the right ring finger. She considered for half a second breaking it like the first, but felt that would be unnecessary. Again, the knife pierced under the nail, slowly into the middle this time, so the suspect could savour the agony. This time, she pushed it straight through and out of his flesh on the other side of the nail, then used her knife as a lever to slowly prise the nail off, tearing it away with a lot more flesh and blood to boot. She let the mass slide off the blade and to the floor in front of the man's face.

'You have eighteen more of those, and worse to come after they're gone. You are only going to make yourself suffer more by staying quiet. Are you ready to talk?'

'Nnnnh... n-never! Immortality Through Faith, brothers!'

And then something in his mouth clicked. Alexa's immediate thought was some form of poison pill, hidden in his tooth until now and broken into to kill him. An easily prevented death. What actually happened was... well, to put it lightly, Alexa had never seen a person's skull light up from the inside like that until today. In a fraction of a second, the man's eyeballs boiled, the bubbling liquid inside spilling as his corpse slumped forward, along with molten brain fluid that forced Alexa to leap back from the sudden heat.

She stood then, her chirurgeon's tools put away for the time being, and muttered 'We're going to need another heretic, sir. Do any nearby draw your attention?' Frankly, there was nothing she could have done to stop whatever had just happened... but she was nonetheless enraged, both with herself for failing to get any instantly-meaningful information, and with the dead heretic for implying one could achieve immortality through any means other than the God-Emperor. This failure would require penance later on.

@Jbcool@jbeil@Andreyich@Kratesis

Lisbeth was not usually a woman predisposed to cruelty; causing excessive pain without killing was a waste of precious armament and time, and generally there was always something else more urgent to deal with - typically, staying alive. This time, however, she felt differently. It was not anger; she knew anger. Anger burned and boiled inside and gave an animating spirit to a person's movement; this was something else. It was a grey-green slime that sat in Lisbeth's heart and sucked everything towards itself. The weight of the boltgun in her hands did not demand to be raised, and her hands did not curl into fists. Looking at the traitor struggle and hearing his language, Sister Dominicia found herself puzzled. There was something amiss, and that made her uncomfortable. Blessed is the mind too small for doubt, child, she reminded herself, and closed her eyes, drawing her focus inwards onto the voice of the Emperor. For a few moments, she was at peace.

It did not last. Her focus was shattered by the screams as Alexandra's blade sliced through the second finger on the traitor's hand. Any lingering twinge of mercy or pity was swept away by the realisation that this man could have been the one who fired the shot that killed Persephone, or any of her Sisters. That sucking sensation returned, and she could not even muster the energy for a scowl, staring at the supine guardsman with an almost disinterested look across her face. Newer, brighter lights. This spark would soon be forgotten - and it was not worth remembering. As will yours. As will all ours.

Why would He say that, of all things? That piece of scripture was one of the first learned within the cloistered walls of the Scholae Progenium, but what was the relevance here? It must have been something she had missed, something obvious...something that would have to wait. The words circled inside her head, as the hospitaller relieved the heretic of his fingernails. 'Newer, brighter lights' were about to occupy everyone's mind in a minute; a shrouded light from somewhere near the prisoner made lisbeth level her gun at the heretic. What she had thought was a las-beam disappeared, and all that remained were two thin, wispy plumes of smoke rising like flowers from the eyesockets of the former prisoner.

"A good heretic," she growled, the bilious swamp in her heart slowly bubbling. "There are plenty more where he came from. My lords, should we begin to move? Heresy grows from idleness, and we all have good reason to..." Her voice trailed off as something caught in her throat. Lisbeth swallowed hard, and reminded herself to make sure she would repent for allowing herself to become so distracted by the consequences of the battle. "There is much to be done," she finished, half-heartedly.

Newer, brighter lights.

The Confessor turned to survey the "interrogation," leaning his chin and both arms on his power maul. The Sister certainly knew human anatomy well, and the lass seemed willing to use this to her advantage. Nothing wrong with such a thing, especially given the context but on the other hand, given the context perhaps it was the exact thing to worry about? Perhaps the prince of dark delights or the lord of violence had overcome her. He shook the thoughts from his head, knowing that if he could not trust the Sisters then he could not trust anybody and might as well lift his shotgun and leave the planet as a burnt up asteroid.

When she got to the second finger though he had to turn his head a little away; it was a bit much for a "man of the cloth" to witness. Oh of course he splattered many a heretic with his many weapons and seen much worse but to see it done so slowly, with such deliberate crudeness and inaccuracy for additional pain was a bit stomach wrenching. He clutched his one finger sensing the phantom of such a pain. In no way did Horacio pity or sympathize with the man, Mazzini merely thought about the nature of the pain he was experiencing.

He turned his head back in time to see the eyes melt and subsequently gag a little. He had great mental strength but he at the same time was by nature a kindly old man (even if forced to not be by circumstance). He grabbed his stomach and considered excusing himself but then decided he best wait for a true moment of respite. He moved a little closer to the others in the impromptu part to convene with a shred of security of their word. "Lord Kliment, do you know what that was? How could such a thing even be smuggled in, surely it would be noticed for I know of no chemical compound to produce a similar effect; as such it must a tainted thing no? This suggests that the heretics have more power than previously imagined. Of course they could have produced it locally but then that once again only goes to show how much power they have here. I believe, Lord, that we have something greater than we initially thought upon our hands."

@Andreyich@jbeil@BCTheEntity@Kratesis

The Confessor asked a pertinent question, and it just so happened that Kliment had seen such a device before – a long, long, time ago in a sector far, far, away. It was only after the sizzling stench of roast flesh and burst brain matter cleared from his nostrils that the Inquisitor regathered his thoughts and with them the wherewithal to yell a warning to those nearest him.

“Cover your eyes, cover your eyes!”

His ears heard the tell-tale clicking of half-a-dozen implanted devices, and through his closed eyelids he could still make out the dying flickers of a mass suicide. Once more the malodorous whiff of bubbling eyeballs and sludgy grey matter caused his nostrils to recoil; although he was a man, albeit a supremely powerful one, who had overseen the death of entire planets, and who fought beside the Sororitas regularly, he had never taken to the smell of crisp tissue and body fat.

“Is everyone alright?” He queried as he uncovered his eyes, “is ever-”

Almost to a person there were no serious injuries, and those Sisters with helmets had nothing to fear, but there was one casualty – one who had been standing nearby and should not have been – who now lay upon the ground and was revealed as something other than what (or whom) he should have been.

“God-Emperor...” muttered the Inquisitor, brushing aside the suddenly frail hand that sought to cover the face of the fallen Planetary Governor, “what have you done with Von Behner?!”

Staring back at him from beneath the half-melted mask was someone who was as much the Governor as he was a High Lord of Terra. Though they had been wearing the face of Von Behner, or a likeness at least, the heat projected from the suicide of the prisoners had scorched the synthetic flesh and revealed just another piece in the puzzle.

Before he could pounce upon the prostrate interloper he already knew what was about to happen, and sure enough that now familiar click saw the skull light from within and skin run like wax. All that was, or had been, the perfect mimic of the Governor was only so much sloughed carcass now.

“Aaahhh!”

Kliment raised his bolt-pistol at the closest Guardsman and waved a hand toward the remaining soldiers gathered nearby, “arrest them! Take their weapons and arrest them.” There may be a slight scuffle, a couple of persons may die, but the Inquisitor had had enough of playing games.

Immortality Through Faith.

It was a phrase that was not singular to this planet alone, one that he had heard before, and just like that – surrounded by armed combatants but without any fear of them – he felt a sudden tingle of fear run down his spine.

"Oh Dear." was all the Horacio provided as he covered his own eyes, and grunted at the sound of the eyes melting. It was nasty business, only the toughest of guts could deny that. As he removed his hands from his face, he stared at the dead governor and made clicking noises whilst shaking his head. "Knew it. This is where your poly-ticks gets you, Lord. I've always said nobility of all sorts have rights given them that are far too lax; not to mention Inquisitors these days are fearful chaps, not willing to uphold global Imperial laws over local demands. Heed my word Lord, more door kicking and less chit-chat. We've had an impostor among us the whole time!"

He was however, quite astonished at the sudden turn of events. The Confessor, perhaps by being more dimwitted or simply simple had presumed the remaining Guardsmen to be loyal. After all, would not all the heretics be an ooze by now? However, a train of thought perhaps quite similar to that of the Inquisitor arrived in his head. "Someone around here is not wholly honest with us, are they...." he said. He knew better infiltrators would not have any markings of chaos, just subtle adoration for it's evil. Yes, his abilities could come in... useful.

He bit his lip thoughtfully, and then looked to either of his sides at the comrades he was amongst. "Lord... a little more diplomacy could be of use. They outnumber us by a considerable margin and even the most loyal of men could find their loyalties turned when detained by a not so friendly looking Inquisitor, his sadistic Sororitas and a portly, noble and unsympathetic looking Confessor. "Please, the Emperor wills it." he said, trying to use religious influence over the man.

The warning came a fraction of a second too late for Lisbeth; beside her, the head of a guardsman turned to burning pitch, and the flash sent her tumbling to the floor, where she fumbled in the over-bright afterimage for her bolter. When she rose, her eyes were steadily rolling with tears, and keeping them open was a struggle; it was as though someone had poured promethium around her eyes and burnt it all in a single spark. Another failure. The next order came in plenty of time; Sister Dominicia was very ready to 'arrest' the traitor guard. "Surrender!" she screamed, and a fraction of a second later she was on two of the surviving guard. They had scarcely had time to hear, let alone comply, before a gauntleted fist drove into the tall one's gut. He bent double as he fell, and a short burst of bolt-fire tore the shorter man's chest into bloody chunks and shards of broken rib.

Letting go of her bolter, so that it hung around her shoulder from the strap, Lisbeth went down on to one knee, wrapping a ceramite fist around the neck of the dumbstruck guardsman, before swinging two swift punches into the bridge of his nose, the second one landing with a satisfying crunch as bone snapped beneath her blow. It was no good asking him to surrender now; he was in no state to answer for his crimes. Frustrated, the sister stood up again, wiping her hair back from her sweat and blood-coated brow. "Heretic!" she howled, swinging her boot at his head; another satisfying crunch, and this time a pinkish ooze began creeping in uneven lumps from the caved-in side of his skull. Good. A dead heretic is a good heretic. Grabbing her bolter, she levelled it at the crowd of guardsmen, and spoke as if possessed by the devil's own fury. "Who is next? Surrender or die, scum!" Coated in ash, dirt and body fluids, Lisbeth was not in a generous mood, and the guard's sense of self-preservation overrode any lingering loyalty to whichever dark force they had sold their souls to, and they threw their rifles to the floor. One, a corporal, stepped forward, her hands extended, her mouth open to say something or other.

It was pointless - Lisbeth was not in the mood to listen to the deranged ramblings of heretics. She swept a leg out, taking the woman off her feet, and swung the butt of her bolter down, throwing all of her weight into the middle of her thigh. A loud, wet crunch and a pained scream rang through the dock as the corporal held her leg, now bent at a sickening angle halfway down her thigh, her femur snapped clean in two by the power-armour-assisted blow. "Get on the transport and take her with you," spat Lisbeth, her voice dripping with disdain. She had nothing but abject hate for these people, for this planet, for what they had done. If it were her decision, the whole world would have been consumed with flame. Perhaps it is best that it is my decision, then, child, spoke the voice in her head, and her anger momentarily gave way to humility. "Lord Inquisitor," she shouted, her bolter still levelled at the retreating guard, four of them carting their corporal along by her limbs, "Your orders?"

Vitruvia had observed sister Alexandra's interrogation of the prisoner without expression. Such was the fate of heretics. It was the will of God. And if it was the will of the God Emperor then Alexandra was doing His work. How could it be right to flinch or be repulsed when God's will was carried out? So Vitruvia suppressed any discomfort. She did not allow herself to even acknowledge that she could feel such a thing. It would be wrong. And Vitruvia was righteous.
Besides he was a heretic. They weren't really people.

Then the suicides began. Click-click-click-click-click- COVER YOUR EYES!-- she heard the Inquisitor yell and she did, pressing her face into the black cerimite of her forearm. The stench made her gag but the ruin the device made of the heretics faces brought joy to her heart. Better to interrogate them, of course. But could the righteous not but celebrate at the perishing of heresy?

When the Governor was revealed to be a imposer himself she shouldn't have been shocked. After all she had suspected treachery from the moment she had realized how opportune his rescue had been. It was too much of a coincidence.
But she was shocked. Not merely heresy but a doppelganger! Such devices were surely the work of the Xenos or the Ruinous Powers. Vitruvia shivered inside her battle scared power armor. It was unholy. It had to be.

Shaken as she was by the revelation she nonetheless obeyed the Inquisitors commands immediately. Her helm went back over her head and she drew her bolt pistol, advancing toward the nearest group of guardsmen and begin disarming them by force. Stunned by the sudden developments several did not resist but one attempted to jerk his lasrifle away from her. A right cross hit his jaw with a crack like an autogun shot. He dropped to the ground and blood ran from mouth.

No one else resisted. Vitruvia stacked their lasguns out of reach and herded them into the gunship with her boltpistol.

Despite her misgivings about her own helmet, it once again proved itself worthy of keeping her protected, darkening automatically in response to the sudden burst of light and heat, the armour as a whole protecting her body. She still covered her eyes as the event came about, though, because you don't disobey an Inquisitor's orders under any circumstance. Though she was one of the first to uncover them, and one of the first to realise that the only significant casualty had been the governor himself - or, so it happened, the man who had claimed to be the governor until moments ago. Not seconds later, he too had activated a device of his own, turning himself to so much dead meat in the process.

The Inquisitor's yell of anger just about summed it up, and Alexa was all too happy to oblige to his order. Or she would be, if she didn't notice one of her Sisters- if she recalled her name correctly, that would be Sister Lisbeth- quite decidedly not heeding the order. Instead, she'd gotten round to killing two of the guardsmen in an apparent blind rage, and those may not even be heretics, merely misled by heretics. Not that the crime was particularly lesser, but it didn't warrant murdering them before they could be interrogated. And since a couple of other Battle-Sisters had gotten to keeping the group of guardsmen she'd had an eye on in check, Alexa decided kindness ought to dominate here.

'Sister Dominica!' she called, jogging over to her sister-in-arms, but not quickly enough to prevent her snapping a corporal's leg in twain. Again, she yelled, voice still twisted by the vox of her helmet: 'SISTER LISBETH! We're arresting them, not executing them!' Was it her place to chide? Possibly not, but regardless of her own hatred of cult activity, most cultists were more useful alive than dead, if only marginally. And again, the guardsmen might not even be cultists. That said, it didn't seem like Lisbeth had heard, telling the guardsmen she'd been harassing to get in the ship, and take their fallen corporal with them. With an exasperated sigh, Sister Alexandra drew her own bolt pistol, aiming it at the group of guardsmen as they moved into the ship, and then at whichever other groups of guardsmen needed to be aimed at as they were escorted to what would seem to be their temporary holding cell for the time being. What happened next, she supposed, was up to Inquisitor Kliment.

@Jbcool@jbeil@Andreyich@Kratesis

"SISTER LISBETH!" Somewhere off to her left, a bass voice growled, and the towering Sister Alexa approached, with a scowl laid over the features of her helmet by Lisbeth's imagination. As she fell into her long, spindly shadow, she felt as though she was a neonate within the Scholae Progenium again, being scolded by her lexicography master for chattering. "We're arresting them, not executing them!" When she turned, her first instinct was to shout, to defend herself and to explain that the only good heretic was a dead heretic - and these people were guilty by association. It did not take long for her features to soften; even if Alexa hadn't been a terrifying figure to behold, Lisbeth was not an argumentative soul by nature. More than anything else, she was embarrassed. She had lost her temper, and perhaps valuable information now lay irretrievable. "I didn't - I'm sorry, they...damn it."

Rubbing her eyes with the back of her gauntlet wasn't helping - the flash from the suicide devices was still burnt as a multicoloured spot in the centre of her vision, and Lisbeth's eyes were still watering from the smoke and the smell of burnt, fatty tissue. "They killed our sisters." She turned away, swallowing hard. "They killed Persephone." It was selfish and stupid to be so upset, so bothered by Persephone when there were others who lay dead or injured, but she was at times selfish and stupid. "They killed her," she repeated, finding herself furious with how utterly dumb she sounded.

...was she crying? No... well, yes, but Alexa was fairly sure it wasn't for reasons of sentimentality. And if it were, she was sure the Inquisitor would have something to say about it. More likely, the flash of light and heat, along with the smoke of burning bodies, had gotten to them, a more reasonable cause of tears than anything else, given who they were.

'I know, Lisbeth,' Alexa said in a soothing... but again, the helmet kept warping her tone to a much harsher drone, so she was now obliged to keep going so as to make sure she wasn't misunderstood. 'The loss of any human, be it into the Emperor's hand or to the ravages of Chaos, is a saddening time, for it means one less supporter in the Imperium's ranks. And this role is what we are trained for, after all. Rest assured,' she continued, still not convinced she'd made her sympathies clear, 'Sister Persephone sits now by the side of the God-Emperor, freed from mortal burdens.' Speaking of which, it occurred to her that perhaps the Confessor ought to be giving this speech, but she couldn't in good conscience allow a fellow Battle-Sister to be conflicted so.

"I...I know, sister. I know," sighed Lisbeth, exhausted. After all the anger and the adrenaline had left her, all she was left with was the sapping tingle of tired limbs and the swampy bog at the bottom of her guts that slowly stirred like a witch's poison brew. This lapse of faith - and the rest of today's failures - would have to be repented for, and they would be, but for now there were orders to be followed, plans to be made - bodies to be laid to rest. Trying now to blink the persistent dots away, she examined Permanence, calming herself by following the Rites of Maintenance before she craned her neck to look up at Alexa. "Sister, I want you to make me a promise. If I fall before this business is finished, you must save the faithful souls on this world. You must find the one who is responsible for all of this, and they must suffer before they burn."

'Well, of course, Sister,' Alexa responded immediately. 'There isn't an alternative to break to anyway. Naturally, they who have corrupted even the smallest number of humans is irredeemable, and must be put down no matter what sacrifices must be made.' That was a given, was it not? Such a grievous error in faith could only be resolved by torment of the highest order, until the sinner had either repented or died, followed by a burning whether or not they still lived, destroying their body to try and save their soul, and even then the final decision was ultimately His. And if they remained unrepentant even then... well, there would always be those who pledged themselves to ushering in their own damnation, no matter the efforts of others.

"Thank you, sister," Lisbeth started, leaving her mouth hanging open like a stunned fish while she searched for something to finish the sentence with. Eventually, she settled for "Thank you," patting her sister-in-arms on the elbow - she would have laid a hand on her shoulder, but even two of Lisbeth would have struggled to reach that high. Not quite half a smile returned and an overwhelming sense of serenity crashed into the tiny warrior's mind; it still hurt, and she was still in equal measure despondent and furious, but the presence and the words of the faithful could soothe any spirit. She would accept the fate she was appointed, and do His will. "Come on. Milord Inquisitor will have puzzled out the next move, I'm sure." With that, she lifted her bolter onto her shoulder, raised her head, and steadied herself for whatever was to come, jogging over to accept orders with a light shining once again in her red-rimmed eyes.

Those flashes had really hurt.

@Andreyich@jbeil@BCTheEntity@Kratesis

It may have appeared as if Kliment was too busy staring at the corpse of the until-then Governor, indeed his eyes had not moved since they returned from watching the (possibly) loyal Guardsmen rounded up and herded as (possible) heretics into the back of the transport – along with them went at least a squad of Sisters, made into prison guards for the moment, those that would take these castaways into the atmosphere and find out by life or death whether they knew anything of this ploy – but in truth he noticed and heard everything.

Horacio's pleas had come to nought once the Inquisitors escort had moved into action, the majority of the Guard personnel – probably as loyal as loyal could be – dropping their weapons as soon as they realised what had happened and was now happening in return. Of course, there would be a potentially guiltless Corporal who may never return to active service, and two that would not even have that chance; had Sister Alexa not moved with the forcefulness and purpose that she did, well, Lisbeth may have been among the prisoners instead of his personal protectors...or worse.

Only the four of them, Kliment himself, and a half-dozen other Sisters (Celestian Victorine having accompanied the guard detail back to the Inquisitorial vessel in orbit) now remained standing on the platform alone after the lander had taken off in a rush of displaced air and engine thrusters.

“Sisters...” the Inquisitor spoke up, gesturing for them to form a semi-circle before him, “and Confessor,” he added to acknowledge Horacio and his position there, “'Immortality through Faith' is what the heretic said before disposing of himself, and they are words that I have heard before.” At his side his fingers twitched, the pain that had been expelled from his body by adrenaline now beginning to seep into him as he spoke, “it is not something of which I can speak now, not without further proof, but I will tell you this; there is corruption on this planet, the same corruption that has been found on multiple planets throughout the sector.”

His bionic eye, as red as his other eye, whirred in and out of focus as he took in each of them.

“What we must decide now is how to proceed, and I turn to you all for your counsel – I am not one to simply declare Exterminatus, and I do believe that the caner which infests this planet can be removed if correct measures are taken. So, I ask, what to do? The Governor is clearly not present here, but may still be alive and a captive or hostage. The PDF has been infiltrated at least, and if word gets out here of the 'Governors' demise there could be revolution. I have no doubt that the lower hive is where we would find the hub of the refuse and cesspool of heretical activity on Athega Tertius, but simply entering it and hoping for the best is something that may also provoke a larger reaction than I would like.”

There was clearly no doubt that Kliment was telling them less than he knew, as he would see it for their own safety and preservation, but he also knew that he could not (and would not) keep it from them forever. No, they would need to know at some point, but for now they were more useful being focused on a task that would benefit both himself and the planet at large.

“I am still not sure if my assumptions are correct,” he admitted in a show of frank honesty to them all, “but we cannot remain here, too much has happened and when their proxy Governor does not return then suspicion will begin to take hold. Thoughts?”

Vitruvia listened as the Inquisitor spoke. It became clear to her that Kliment was not a man of rash action nor was he a man who had allowed his high station to corrupt his thoughts with pride. He considered his options carefully and asked for both advice and aid when he needed it.

The sister spoke up. "My lord, my fellow sisters, many of you have seen more of war and more of heresy than I. But I will offer you my thoughts and you may judge them for yourselves."

"In the Schola Progenium we were taught to address the most immediate threat first. A heretic pulling the pin on a grenade is a greater threat than a heretic reloading his lasgun. In my humble opinion the most immediate threat to the God Emperor's rule is the PDF. As we have all seen something is deeply amiss within their ranks. What we have seen here today is dire heresy but I fear like a chunk of ice floating in the sea, there is far worse under the surface."

"Thus I must counsel that we address the corruption within the PDF first. Should the PDF fall to heresy the planet will be lost without the intervention of the Guard. However should the governor be lost the PDF could install another governor in his place. Should the population rise up in heretical revolt the PDF stands the best chance of suppressing the rebellion."

"In short my lord the PDF is the greatest and most immediate threat to the God Emperor's rule. We have direct and clear evidence of its corruption. And once its loyalty is secure it offers the greatest chance to stabilize the situation while we root out further heresies."

'I agree with Sister Vitruvia, Inquisitor Kliment,' Alexa uttered, still cursing her helmet's deep tone, and surprised at how much she'd been talking recently. Then again, this more than most had been an eventful day. 'If the PDF are even somewhat corrupted, then no civilian on this planet is safe. The only way to be certain is to personally probe every single soldier for information and evidence, and with respect, I fear that our mere task force is not sufficient to handle such a massive undertaking. That said, I might almost propose calling in a larger Ordo Hereticus force to contain and interrogate the PDF of this world, and having them execute any heretics and relay any useful information to us, whilst we continue handling the more intimate and manageable portions of this investigation. Civilians tend not to be privy to the PDF's actions and interactions, to my knowledge- and if they are, I imagine it wouldn't be impossible to restrict PDF interactions with the civilian populace for the time it would take- and the most immediate way to protect this world's inhabitants would, after all, be to ensure their protectors are loyal.

'Speaking of which, if this-' Alexa gestured to the ex-heretic who had been masquerading as the man in charge of the planet. '-was not the real governor, then the real governor is surely in danger, if not already dead or otherwise irretrievable. As you say, revolution could spread if it becomes known that the governor has died - or worse, that his impersonator has died. I feel that it is of utmost importance that we look for him before entering the Underhive, or at least install a trustworthy replacement, however temporarily. If he happens to be within the Underhive, so much the better - we can search and investigate in the same stroke.'