@BCTheEntity@jbeil@Andreyich

Some time, and the gathering of several civilian women and one Arvus Lighter, later...

Victorine hadn't realised how much she'd dislike standing around in nothing but her under clothing - a sleeveless top and pair of loose trousers in the colours of her priory - but is dawned on her as she watched the three not-quite-large-enough figures seemingly discussing with one another; she may not be an Astartes, but her armour was nevertheless much like a second skin to her, with or without the gift of a black carapace and numerous augementations.

"Right," she said after a couple of moments, one hand running absent-mindedly over the hilt of her powersword, the other over the bolt pistol she would not be drawing unless absolutely necessary, "this is to be as quiet as possible, assume anyone not bound to be an enemy - should they not be, well, I daresay the God-Emperor shall know his own. We'll be landing on the roof of the palace, here... " she pointed to a marking on a piece of rough paper given to her in haste by the same stuffy Guardsman, "a rooftop entranceway and staircase lead to the armoury and barracks, both of which I assume will be thoroughly ransacked, and from there through to the living quarters and, eventually, to the Governors personal chambers." She gave everyone a quick glance, all seeming as eager as herself to get moving, "we shall take the Governor alive if we can, if this is impossible," she gave a small barely perceptible shrug in the shadows of the evening and gestured to the Lighter concealed behind a towering hab-block building close at hand, "let us get to it, ave Imperator."

---

The Sister-Celestian watched patiently as the Lighter began it's descent toward the quite expansive rooftop of the Governors Palace, the air blowing her neatly cut hair as she stood easily at the open doorway to the flying vehicles cargo hold, the structure getting closer and closer - the simple vehicle doing well to keep its squat bulk from impacting with any of the many gargoyles, statues of religious importance, or spikes dotting the roof.

"I'm afraid you're going to need to jump!" Crackled the pilots voice over the comm-vox, "we'll see you when you call us, best of luck, and Emperor protect you."

Victorine prepared herself and jumped the last couple of feet, crumpling her legs up under her and rolling to a crouch, waiting for the remainder of her compatriots before moving with as much caution as she could toward the doorway marked on the page.

"Epsilon 25... 79-12-15... Gamma Gamma..."

She muttered to herself until the code-pad flashed a delightful green, pressing against the heavy access door until it gave way and swung open without a sound, the top of a stairway just visible.

"Stack up on me, Lisbeth take point, there'll likely be sentries posted near the armoury. Prepare your minds, prepare your weapons. Blessed are those without doubt, and we are truly His servants and his judgement."

The Celestian motioned for Lisbeth to take the fore, judging that she would be the most useful there due to her youth and size, "take us in, Sister."

Donning civilian clothing was far less of an ordeal for the Confessor, since in a sort of sense that was the exact thing that he was doing for the entirety of his career. The part of it that was a sort of deception however, did feel quite unnatural to him. The last time he lied a real lie was oh... some twenty years ago if he remembered correctly. A vile moment, it was nevertheless a learning experience. He nodded along in concurrence with Victorine, not wanting to say anything. Anything he would say now would still be a master oration, but he knew that after all the time together the Sisters would hear even the slightest of trembles in his voice and he could not risk making his comrades lose heart just because he had. All he could do for now was memorize the layout described by the soldier before following the Sisters to the flyer so they could bring righteous justice upon the foe.

---

As they descended, the Confessor tested the weight of his maul. He decided it would not be suitable for the tight confines of a building, when already in a ship's corridors it found some issues. But the knives he had hoarded earlier would most certainly be of use. He had brought along his shotgun and bolt pistol, but he had neither silencer nor subsonic munitions to properly use them as anything but a light resort when the subterfuge was discovered. In truth this was a weakness of the Ecclesiarchy and it's Sororitas. Yes, stealth was not a priority for the Sisters of battle but it should most certainly be an option for rare circumstances as these. Jumping down the Confessor didn't roll, instead simply softening his landing with a knee and palm. The doorway opened, and the confessor peeked out. His heart was beating quite rapidly right now he could feel it in his neck.

Looking back and then forwards, Horacio stayed at the very back of the formation with one of the knives he had brought along drawn with the intent of cutting some heretic fool. But... this all was simply not what the cleric was prepared for. He was far too old to be sneaking about, the foe would probably be alerted by the creaking of his bones long before the sounds of violence. Pausing, the Priest scratched some of his facial hair as conflicting thoughts overwhelmed his mind. "Perhaps... Perhaps I shall stay as rearguard here. Guard the escape should the forces of the heretics be greater than we expected and we need an urgent retreat here, I will be able to cover it. I... I do not believe I can go through with this as much more than a burden." Horacio confessed, more than a little ashamed of himself. "But if you need any aid simply holler a righteous word and I shall come at once with fire for the eternal enemy." the man continued on a more optimistic note.

Civilian clothing would have proven impossible to find for Alexa's frame. Fortunately, unlike last time they had been at the Governor's palace, she didn't need it: her underclothing more than sufficed, the black trousers part of her usual robed attire, the plain black t-shirt normally hidden under the bulkier robe. That, along with her headdress, hip cape, and shoes, would not be coming with her on this journey.

However, for the sake of appearances, nor would her chirurgeon's gauntlet. That needed to stay with the civilian woman who'd taken her place, to ensure the armour she was wearing didn't look incomplete. And that meant that any injuries taken could not be healed until they were back on solid ground. She was left with naught but her bolt pistol, and the sarissa blade attached to it - and as this was a stealth mission, she would not be using the pistol unless instructed.

She was rather concerned, to say the least. No armour, no gunfire unless all was lost anyway - and if they were detected, it was a certainty that a loyal governor would be slain long before they arrived. A good proportion of this was her own plan, so to think it would fail... no. It had to succeed. The God-Emperor wouldn't allow anything else. That said, their entrance was made with a Lighter - not the aerial storming Sister Dominica sought, but not the quietest possible entrance either. Nonetheless, she dropped on to the roof with the same combat roll as her leader, dispersing the impact force as much as possible, before realising that the Confessor had not quite rolled the same way. More of a heavy landing from him.

And then he came out with his true mind: he felt he should stay back, guard their exit point, rather than heading in with them. For once, Alexa frowned a little. They'd be down to three infiltrators if Confessor Horacio stayed back... then again, it may be that a smaller strike force was more appropriate for a mission like this? The point stood, however, that Horacio felt incapable of assisting, the fire in his heart not strong enough to fuel his body. And that was a disappointment to hear.

'Hmm.' She pondered for a moment, as she would likely be the rearguard of the infiltration party now. Medically speaking, there was an obvious solution, but that was reserved for those of high importance- and she realised then, her expression lightening, that perhaps it wouldn't be so unreasonable after all! 'If it would suit you, Confessor,' she stated, continuing where she left off, 'we could ask about a rejuvenat treatment for you after this mission? It won't do to have the agents of the Imperium rendered unable to perform their duties by- er. Ah.' Her expression fell again. Oh, she hoped that didn't come off as impolite; it was, she'd felt when saying it, merely accurate. They were agents of the Imperium, after all. But, well...

'...i-it's a thought, anyway,' she finished lamely, sighing as she turned to follow her Sisters into the Palace with pistol in hand and blade attached beneath it. Under her breath, she murmured 'The God-Emperor Protects,' and gritted her teeth. The Sisters Repentia were armoured in naught but faith. She would have to pray as hard as she ever had to ensure hers kept them all cloaked and hidden.

Even without her armour, Lisbeth couldn't feel anything but utterly secure in His light, utterly certain in His protection. She had almost stepped out of the aircraft rather than jumped, and rolled easily across the floor to stand, half crouched, as she accepted her orders with a silent nod. They would be the Emperor's judgement, silent and swift, rather than his flaming sword today. She envied the Confessor, already injured in the course of His duties, but pressed on anyway. All things come in their time, she reminded herself, as without a word she moved into the complex.

She raised her arm in a closed fist, the signal to halt as she peered around a corner - two guards were posted by a door - if not the armoury, then likely some other important section; how very typical of the enemies of the Emperor, to pretend at such great schemes and then give away their key position in an act of obviation. The problem was how to draw them away for long enough to get behind them, the distance too great to despatch them without giving enough time to raise an alarm. The other end of the coridoor was within sight, but to attack from that side would have it's own dangers. A pincer movement, then.

Shuffling back slowly, not even making a sound with the brushing of the fabric against her scarred skin, she addressed her sisters in almost inaudible High Gothic. "Two targets. I will go back the way we came and turn against ourselves, until I am at the far end of the coridoor. On your signal, Sister-Celestian, I will strike from the far side while you strike from here, and with His grace we will each fall upon one before his brother in treachery can make a sound. Sister-Celestian?"

One thought stuck in Lisbeth's head as she read the dark-skinned warrior's face for a reaction. I wish I still had my sword.

@BCTheEntity@Andreyich@jbeil

Victorine was somewhat confused for a moment, only two? She had expected at the least a number of foot patrols throughout the Governor's palace, perhaps even a series of overlapping fields of fire? Maybe she was giving these orange-clad betrayers too much credit and they truly were a rabble of disorganised fools... or maybe it was a trap?

Caution had never been a trait the Amazonian Celestian had possessed in abundance however, and the plan proposed by her subordinate seemed to have enough merit that she was willing to give it the go-ahead.

"You have ten minutes to get into position and then we attack. I shall signal with a whistle. Go with His blessing."

She watched the Sister return back toward their entry point, looking to Sister Dominica for a moment and then back around the corner at the two sentries.

"I worry about our young comrade," she half-whispered, loud enough for Alexa to hear but quiet enough not to alert the enemy, "though I applaud her seemingly growing fanatacism, praise be to Him on Terra."

A smile accompanied her words, turning into a snarl as she eyed the two oblivious targets, her own religious fevour growing inside her with each passing moment, one hand finding the hilt of her sarissa and sliding the curved blade from its sheath.

The allotted time had passed - Victorine would attack now and trust in Lisbeth and in the God-Emperor to keep her alive - the Celestian placing two fingers within her mouth and producing a shrill whistle, already turning the corner to throw herself at the nearest guard.

Shaken abruptly from their reverie the closest protector raised their las-weapon in - Victorine noticed with some consternation - unwavering hands and pointed with all the calm of someone assured of their purpose straight toward her.

It was slow... far too slow...

Every Sororitas was at the peak of mortal fitness, exceeding even the training of veteran Guardsmen, and it was because of this that mere moments later the razor sharp blade slipped between a traitors ribs and right into their heart.

Sister Dominica was the vessel of His judgement, swift and deadly. It was a simple task to arrive at her appointed position, and remain out of sight. She kept her knife sheathed within the civilians' clothes, preferring to avoid the risk of a shimmering light giving away their position; instead, as the whistle came, she handed herself over to Him and let her hands travel where they may. Wordlessly, the voice she had always trusted moved her to dash forwards, muscles pinging like taut elastic as she steamed towards the leftmost traitor. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the image of the great Celestian falling upon the enemy, before she delivered a stinging punch, swinging outside of her body and into the neck of the traitor whose attention was drawn by his fallen comrade.

Like cardboard in heavy rain, he folded, hands going to his neck. A failure. That blow should have killed him outright. Lisbeth silently tallied another mark against herself as she set about finishing her task. The guardsman, wheezing as he sucked unsteady mouthfuls of air into a dented windpipe, could only raise his arms up to chest height before a heavy shin struck him in the cheek, bringing him to the floor on his back before a heavily-muscled Sororitas pinned his arms to the floor with her legs. Without a word, Lisbeth's arms dived towards the sides of his head, already beginning to become slick with blood from a broken cheekbone, and plunged her thumbs through his eyeballs. There was a momentary resistance before a moist pop, and thin bones cracked as Lisbeth stirred the insides of his brains, forming a sticky, porridge-like paste of bone and mashed flesh. It gave Lisbeth a little measure of joy to know that the traitor died in horrid pain, a welcome appetiser for the judgement and purgation to come.

Her task finished, she wiped the pink jam from her thumbs on the collar of the dead soldier's fatigues, lip curled in disgust. She would not waste prayers on this one. Instead, she grabbed his dropped rifle, pulled the bolt and ejected the magazine to check the state of charge, and rammed it back into the port, satisfied. They were not part of the trinity, but las-weapons at least had the virtue of silence. Quietly, she fixed the bayonet stolen from the dead guard's belt, and nodded towards her commander. "Celestian?"

The Confessor's moustache drooped as Alexa spoke, before smiling kindly as she finished. "Oh how endearing of you to suggest such, dearest Sister. Alas, I doubt it will be. I am but a humble Confessor. I would not deign to ask for such and even if indeed I were to do so I am all but certain the request would be rejected. Worry not, Sister. I know that between the three of you not a hereitc shall be left standing and should the foe be alerted to you, I shall be ready to dispense holy justice of my own." Horacio promised, racking the slide of his shotgun demonstratively. Of course, though a powerful symbolic gesture he made sure to pick the fallen shell off of the ground.

He made the sign of the Emperor as the Sisters went off to do their duty, before kneeling down in silent prayer.No doubt as the time passed that they were killing many of the foe, and oh how much Horacio wished e could be amongst his comrades. It wasn't cowardice that kept him here oh no, he was more than happy to die in the line of duty. Rather he was a liability and he would indeed benefit from Alexa's suggestion, despite the unlikelihood it would ever come through for him. In his studies he had learned of some tribes in feral worlds that ritually threw their most elderly and unproductive off of cliffs such that they could live more efficiently in the service of the Emperor, and the grim thought came upon him that he would soon be approaching eligibility for this alien, but strangely logical and utilitarian practice.

He was brought out of his musings however as he overheard loud voices, and possessing a definite masculinity that indicated they were not the Cleric's treasured Sisters. They were angry, and all but certainly they were not the sort who would be kind to the followers of the Emperor. The thought that his absence could have these men strike into the rear of the trio and he would be at fault for having stayed behind made his heart beat dangerously and he had to practice a few breathing exercises to restore himself to a healthy state. His shotgun would be of no use hear, and thus he stowed it away.

Peaking around at the men he grimaced. They were two and he was one. He had the element of surprise, but he did not go along with the Sisters precisely because he knew he would have difficulty maintaining it. What then, could he do? Well, he had knives had he not? He drew two, and tested their balance. He could throw one with some semblance of accuracy, and not two at once. After he hit one of the men the second would be alerted and rather likely to duck for cover before the projectile hit him. He would have to fight one hand-to-hand, that much was apparent.

He wasted no time and rushed out throwing one of the blades at a squatting heretic. Much to the Priest's disappointment it didn't cut into the man, rather just striking the skull of the bastard with a loud bonk. It was enough to at least temporarily incapacitate the man as the Confessor went to stab his comrade. The man however was young and clearly skilled, reacting just in time to catch Horacio by the wrist and stave off the attack. The worrying realization dawned on Horacio that the man was much stronger than him as slowly his blade-bearing hand was overpowered and the point turned on its very holder, slowly pushed back towards Horacio's flesh. The man had more skill, more energy, more strength. But Horacio knew he had faith, and experience on his side. As slowly blood began to be drawn, he spat in the man's eyes before striking him in the head with his own. He ignored the tremendous pain as the knife went all the way into him and he ignored it again as he removed it before sinking it into the enemy's skull. The encounter had almost ended Mazzini's life and had felt like eternity, but in truth it was no more than six seconds in total.

The man hadn't been paying attention, and he knew he might have screamed amidst the violence. He hoped it was not the case, but it was a dangerous possibility.

Alexa wasn't certain how she ought to react to her superior's statement about Dominica. She wasn't incorrect, of course, but at the same time if there were issues with her conduct, they ought to be relayed directly, should they not? So, she simply nodded, and with plenty of time to consider that matter and no set role in Lisbeth's plan, her thoughts gradually drifted back toward Athega Tertius. A lifetime ago, that felt like, but even then Sister Dominica had shown a great deal of violence in her conduct, especially after the death of her fellow Sister at the time.

That had been a simple mission, though. Defeat the local forces and acquire information that found itself unforthcoming. What they did now felt... complicated. Part of her seemed to shy away from conflict, a part she'd believed seared out by the Schola and Convent alike, but which saw freedom to emerge when facing social interaction and stealth. Perhaps seeing a fellow Sister perish without her being able to do a thing, or else losing contact with many of her fellows, had damaged her somehow?

Or was she merely losing faith? Not even in the God-Emperor, but in her own ability. She'd need to submit herself for internment to the Sisters Repentia if it were the former... and yet, surely the latter was tied to the former? It was an unnerving question, and part of her wondered if it'd be better for her to be more like Sister Lisbeth in kind... but, she wouldn't have been installed as part of Inquisitor Horacio's coterie if she was incapable. She knew she had plenty of skill, in giving and taking life, and she'd proven both were solidly capable; it was just a case of trusting her prior experience, ensuring proper compassion was not lost on those who required it, and delivering the Emperor's justice to those who had forsaken compassion.

Soon, the time came for the ambush. Sister-Celestian Victorine's went swimmingly; Sister Lisbeth's, not quite so much. She'd secured a mortal blow, at least.

Which meant what she did next, gruesome as it was, was utterly needless. The sort of sickening end she'd expect a heretic to bring to another person, not a fellow Sororitas. Worse, it was loud, too loud, the impacts seeming to be quiet indeed next to the deafening sound of Lisbeth forcibly lobotomising him. By the time Alexa rounded the corner, she could do no more to help than stare bewildered at the sight.

And without further comment, she simply took his weapon, and looked to Sister-Celestian Victorine for further instruction.

No. This could not stand. Torture was a necessity, barely enjoyable only in how it brought proper safety to the Imperium both by the information brought and by terrifying others into spilling their secrets and repenting. Now Alexa agreed more thoroughly with the Sister-Celestian, for surely something was wrong with doing this to the Emperor's enemies.

'Sister Lisbeth. We have sarissas. It'd be worth using yours to finish the fallen quickly.' For once, she'd have appreciated the faulty helmet vox; as it was, she had to restrain her usual alliance, and set her voice firm as she could when murmuring, and grind her teeth afterward about needing to put herself in as an apparent blockade. A longer discussion of Lisbeth's faith and anger ought to be merited, as they had had back at the Hive Spire so long ago, but they didn't have the time or the safety for it.

It'd have to wait, then. For now, Alexa turned in kind to the Sister-Celestian, seeking her orders once more.

@Jb@Andreyich@jbeil

"A life spent in His service is joy, Sister," whispered Lisbeth. "Destroying His foes is our divine mission. Behold," she announced, with an extended hand. She wished she had her armour - a ceramite fist would have made this much faster. "Our work is done, for now. More await." She shared a swift glance with her superior, and a nod. There was enough time for a brief lesson, though it would have to be combined with movement. As she took her position, ready to breach the next door, she spoke under her breath, careful not to give away their position. Not another ambush. Not like her.

"I understand, Sister, that if I were to fall in battle, and you were unable to aid me, that you would take responsibility for delivering me to His side. The Emperor's Mercy, I believe it is called. Mercy is precious. Valuable. I see no reason to waste such a scarce resource on His foes. Save your mercy for those who deserve it. Save it for me. Now hush - we have a foe to slay, and a governor to rescue." Something burned in her eyes as she spoke, and she turned her head back to the door, lasgun raised and set for a silent scorch. They took our Saint. Our deliverance. I will burn them on a pyre of hatred for what they have done.

"We should move swiftly, Sister-Celestian. There is precious little time to lose."

"We should move swiftly, Sister-Celestian. There is precious little time to lose."

"Hush yourself," snapped Victorine as she picked up the lasgun hanging from now slackened fingers, checking the power pack in one jmotion before lifting it to her shoulder, "Sister Alexa... if you would not mind pressing that panel there." She pointed one finger at a panel next to the door, assuming that these rebels would be too cocksure and confident to leave a passcode or security sequence on the door.

Once the tank of a woman had pressed the button the door would begin to slip open, the Sister-Celestian taking in the scene before her with quick glances, inside was a room wherein a dozen guards were moving about in various ways - a few were rising slowly from their bunks, while another huddled by themselves in a corner, and a further few played a game of regicide around a small steel table; at the far end of the room, hanging by chains above a sputtering fire, clearly already slashed and cut multiple times, was the Planetary Governor himself.

One eye, less bloodied and swollen than the other, peered up as the door opened and opened wide in surprise.

"You know what to do, Sisters. Show no mercy, secure the Governor, and God-Emperor take them!"

Before the door was even fully opened the Celestian was through, shooting a too-slow heretic from their feet and into a wall with a sickening crack of bone, screaming a prayer to the Emperor as spatterings of return fire whipped about her.

@jbeil@Andreyich@BCTheEntity

Stripped of her weapon, Lisbeth felt chastised for a moment, but before she had time to mope the order came to come through the door, and as it lifted she followed her leader underneath the door. A las-beam cut across her line of vision and left her momentarily blinded, and aggressive training kicked in, driving her onwards toward the source of the beam. Move fast, low, and jerk - she banked hard to the left, where one of the players had rised from their seat. Her momentum carried her into him, and before either could react they were in a tangle upon the floor, exchanging blows. His hand struck her across the face twice, busting her lip with the first strike and breaking the skin around her cheek on the second. Something hot in her mouth radiated across her tongue as a third blow came, but this time she raised her head and clamped her jaw around his palm, a scream ringing out as he struggled. His other hand moved to rescue it's counterpart, and that left his holster open. With a swift grab, Lisbeth tore the pistol out from the leather case and twisted her hand, forced to pull the trigger with her thumb into his midriff.

He grunted, and two more shots rang out as slugs ripped through his torso, and on the fourth yank of the trigger he was already dead, slumped on top of Lisbeth, his warm breath against her neck set her spine tingling, like maggots crawling through her bones. Move. Speed is life. Matron Deangelis' lessons rang in her ear as she made a great effort, heaving against the fallen guard's mass. As she lifted, two more las-rounds blasted the fallen guard's back, and the sizzle of burned meat displaced the stink of his breath in her nostrils. With a kick, she extricated herself and dashed for the the overturned table. It wouldn't hold for long against the lasguns, but it would buy her a few seconds to exchange shots and hopefully distract the shooters long enough for another of her sisters to take them out.

She badly missed her sword.

@jbeil@BCTheEntity

Several hours must have passed since their entry into the palace, thought Victorine to herself, pacing down yet another corridor and watching with satisfaction as another las-round burrowed through the mask and into the skull of yet another orange-clad heretic.

Much like the hours, they must surely have dispatched every heretic within the confines of the palace walls! How could they not have? She had already dried two-to-three ammo packs, leaving them hissing on the floor as she moved with her comrades-in-arms, toward an area that all woman jack of them would know when they got there.

"And here we are..." muttered the Celestian, pausing briefly and moving into a half-crouch, turning to look at her Sisters with a half-grimace half-smile of fanatacism, "something waits for us within, though I cannot know what as the God-Emperor does, but I can... feel... something... beyond those doors, where we have all stepped before." Her eyes turned to look at the doors ahead, large enough for a dreadnought to pass through without hinderance, and her expression became dark with woe, "prepare your weapons, Sisters and, if it is required, give your lives for the God-Emperor and our Imperium."

Checking one last time that her bolt pistol was loaded, and that the spirit of her powersword was prepared to take further life, Victorine gave a hand signal to proceed up the corridor and straight at the doors.



The audience hall could not have been any more different than it had been the first time they saw it; while previously it had been filled to the rafters with officials, retinues, and the sound of soaring music, the hall now contained no sound but that of the door swinging open to reveal a sight that made the Celestian's hands tighten into fists and her blood run hot through her veins.

There stood before the spreading trio, near enough at the other end of the darkened and empty hall, was the grille-mouthed Emissary - he stood as still as the shadows all around him, and just as uncaring at their prescence it seemed, two robotically strengthened hands clasped on either side of a kneeling figure... none other than Governor De'mange himself! The poor man had obviously been drugged or poisoned, still dressed in his nightwear, his lolling head only kept upright by the trecherous parasite gripping it.

"Welcome Sisters," intoned the puppet-master in a voice as emotionless as the circuits that ran through his nervous system, his hooded head leaving only his ashen face and glinting grille visible in the moonlight, "I am truly sorry that this has to happen, I did not want it to you see. No, believe me, I tell the truth, Emperor as my witness."

With a slight twist of his hands, and a loud crunch of bone, the neck of Diokletian was broken without so much as a thought, and the formerly virile and strong Governor dropped to the floor as no more than a sack of meat.

"Humans, so very fragile. He was a cruel master though, you can rest assured he did not deserve all that the Emperor and his Imperium had given him."

It was then that the Emissary brushed his hands together in an oddly human gesture, as if brushing dirt from his hands, other arms moving beneath the folds of his robes - holding concealed weapons no doubt.

"Speaking of masters, I believe you have mine incarcerated aboard your ship." It was not a question but a statement, also a delivering of terms, "release him, please. I will ask only once. Do so, and not only may you all keep your lives, but the life of your sainted girl will not be forfeit in place of my masters."

Victorine looked to each of her Battle Sisters in turn, her hand moving ever-so-slowly toward the hilt of her bolt pistol, hoping that they too would take the hint.

The time for talking had been over the moment that they entered the hall... now was the time for death and retribution.



@Andreyich

"Horacio Mazzini," spoke a far-away voice, a voice made up of a multitude of voices in fact, moving through the Confessors mind as if whatever was speaking to him had him surrounded internally, "you will not... can not... die here, the God-Emperor has not had his fill of you yet, Confessor."

Something began to form within his mind, first nothing more than an outline of blinding white light, before the figure of a young woman stepped into his thoughts and conciousness, her face serene and calm as she gazed into him dressed in no more than a light shift.

"Even now your charges fight for their lives, seeking to save me and to redeem this planet from damnation. They cannot do it alone, Horacio. Not without the spiritual strength you supply to them.

She knelt down beside him then, striking his bleeding head calmly, a warmth spreading into him though he could have been awake or asleep at this point - it mattered not.

"Go to them Horacio, help them push back the darkness! Rise and fight, the Emperor commands it!

A crack and flash of light and she was gone, leaving only Horacio and the corpses of those he had killed some time earlier, the wound on his head naught now but a puckered scar.

He was a traitor.

He was a traitor, holding the life of a saint as ransom.

There was only one end for traitors.

"The sainted child shall be an example for us all as a martyr," Lisbeth swore under her breath, and levelled her weapon.

"Blam - blam - blam!" Three shots fired in a single burst, rat-tat-tatted against the metal holding together the Emissary's flesh, as the last rounds in the weapon were expended. All to the good - the Emperor's justice was best delivered by hand. With a roar, Lisbeth pushed off on her left foot and dashed towards the techno-witch, gun raised overhead for a downwards strike aimed at the top of the Emissary's skull, thick ropes of muscle contracting to throw her forwards with all speed.

Horacio lay where he was, knife in bleeding hand as he saw an apparition appear before him. Momentarily he reacted with fear, for he knew very well that it was the way of the daemon to hide their evil in appearance that a faithful Imperial would mistake for piety. But his fears were gradually dissuaded with the words the woman provided, and eventually he was convinced that it was indeed a blessed occurrence indeed.

As he pushed himself upright with a grunt, he brushed himself off. Who had visited him? Perhaps Saint Arabelle? Or perhaps Sabat herself? It was a matter of much contention within his mind, and indeed it may just as easily been a mirage brought on by the injury of his head. After all, the bleeding from the head-butt may not have been all that severe, even if the internal injury may have been mighty enough to create hallucinations. Nevertheless, even if it was a falsehood of injury, it was right in that he had been neglecting his duty to his Sisters through laziness, fear of his incompetence, and now he had to go to them once more. Picking up the weapons of the traitors upon slings, he jogged through the hallway to move at speed but simultaneously conserve energy and not create too much noise.

The man found himself turning at intersections and walking up and down flights of stairs, guided along even with his eyes closed by his very instinct — a euphemism for the providence for the Emperor in any sane society. As he got closer to what that same instinct told him was his destination, he found ever more dead men. Fortunately, a good many seemed to be traitors for which no mercy could be afforded.

At last, the edge of his vision bore doors behind which there was a good deal of noise. By now Horacio was shouldering quite a good many weapons on slings and holsters, from las and autorifles to recovered chainswords strewn about the place.

He only arrived in time to hear the last few syllables of the dark manipulator, but it was enough to knew this was spawn of darkness, a being which could only beckon one response: its demise.

"Watch out!" the Confessor bellow, pulling the pin from a single grenade upon a bandolier of them that he then swung like an ancient sling, the length of synthetic leather flying in a neat arc over-head of the Sisters towards the bugger.