When the party started travelling down the landing ramp, the stench of industry and toil had already filled the interior of the Lander; it was unpleasant, acrid, and it was good. The combined labours of billions of souls beneath the Emperor's beneficent gaze were responsible for raising this place up from the dirt, and maintaining it's noble condition. Despite the threat of heresy, ever-present, the edifice of humanity was always a heartening sight. 

The sound of gunfire was better. 

It made a great many things simpler. She and her sisters, and the noble Inquisitor and Confessor were the rightful servants of the God-Emperor, aegis of Mankind, and therefore whoever was shooting at them were, by definition, the foes of the Imperium. Traitors. Heretics. Sister Lisbeth Dominicia was by no means a scholar, and she was certainly no fountain of wisdom, but she knew her purpose, and how to fulfill it. [b]Cla-chak,[/b] clicked the safety mechanism on Lisbeth's boltgun, and the firing bolt hammered into place, three-round bursts lighting up the landing platform. As Sister Vitruvia moved ahead, Lisbeth followed, shifting her weight against the wall, leaning out to spray another burst into the dark. 

This was not what she was made for. Lisbeth would never reach the rank of Sister-Retributor or Sister-Dominion. While her aim was true, and  she was trained with every firearm the Order held, this was no way to defeat the heretic. The light of the Emperor had to be taken to them and their darkness purged from the corners they hid away in. [i]Footsteps.[/i] Perfect. Reaching behind her back, she pulled a grenade from her belt and flicked out the pin with a thumb, lobbing it over-arm down the hallway. Anyone stuck down there would be blown to smithereens, and if the heretics feared for their physical forms then they would soon emerge. 

[i]Close enough.[/i] Lisbeth reared up from behind the wall, leading with her armoured elbow, straight into the chest of the onrushing traitor. The noise of the armour's mechanisms drowned out the cracking of ribs as the heretic's heart broke, a shard of bone tearing through the left ventricle. The heavy swing of her bolter came around and struck the other beside him, a young-looking woman with a patchwork of tattoos over her left face; the irony was lost on Lisbeth as the blade of the sarissa cut through her gut, a roll of intestine popping out with a wave of intersitial fluid as she fell backwards, and a burst of fire reduced her skull to a pinkish pulp. 

“Reloading!” shouted Lisbeth, now splattered with powder from her gun, and the dirt and ooze of slaughter. [i]All in the Emperor's name,[/i] she reminded herself, as she took up the chant Sister Vitruvia had started.