"Die, Heretic! Your dark gos have no place on this blessed vessel!" Agathe howled, lifting her power maul high above her head. Bringing it down in a single, short chopping stroke, it struck the knee of a towering, bloodsoaked Ogryn, flashing bright blue as molecular disruption fields carved a path through his skin and bone. The abhuman giant barely had a chance to realize what was happening before he toppled over to his right side, still howling and swinging as if the pain had yet to reach his thick skull...

And then, Agathe was on top of him, bringing the maul down against his skull, smashing into a charred, reddish paste, almost like an overcooked tomato sauce.

Panting, she paused to look up at the carnage around her, the steaming corpses, the ash and scent of acrid burning flesh wafting into her nostrils. More cultists dead, more of her militia gone. Dozens of her own by now. Those in her immediate sight, at least. Hundreds of them? More, certainly, with a vessel of this size...

But none of the witches. None of the targets of value. No, she thought, waiting for something ti happen. For an idea to strike her. Until every last witch was ash, dead and scattered to the void, there was more work to be done. So, so much more work...

Edmund's voice in her ear. Her eyes widened. 

"Everyone! Brace, brace, brace! Immediate translation into realspace!" She screamed, straining her armor's vox-emitters to their maximum as she found something heavy to grab onto.

[hr]

Agathe, despite her distance, was the first to arrive at the bridge - and she was a sight to behold. 

Although she wasn't literally [i]dripping[/i] blood or gore (much, anyways) the evidence of battle, as it were, was evident. From head to toe, Agathe's armor was caked in blood, some half-dried, some burned into a cakey brown mess - while a bit more did still run in rivulets down her plate. Her power maul was perhaps the worst offender, stinking of acrid, burning flesh, still completely covered in the results of its use, and while it was clear that Agathe had made some effort to clean her armor, it was equally evident that, in her haste to reach the bridge, the time she had was not enough.

"Milord," she said, bowing deeply on entry. "I will humbly ask that you forgive my... Uncleanliness," she said, her voice punctuated by an awkward, tinny cough. "The cultists were fierce, yet I was unable to catch any of their... Sorcerors. We must remain vigilant. Examine whoever we can for hints of taint. I have more suggestions, but I-" she paused, chewing her lip in thought.

[i]Indeed,[/i], she thought. [i]A heretix I have not verified slain is one I cannot be certain is dead. Worse yet, their number could have melted back into the crew. Examining all of them would take weeks, but... What options do we have?[/i] 

"Ah, yes - we encountered a handful of groups of cultists, my militia and I - but we were able to wipe each out. My comrades performed extremely well, especially in the face of former friends and crewmen, though, as I said, I am deeply concerned that we were unable to pick out and kill their leader, nor their witches - hence my reasons for continued concern. Furthermore, ah..." She paused again, chewing her lip beneath her helmet yet again.

"I believe I also remember promising a pair of Ogryn brothers - Gav and Lun - a shiny thing or two - for their valour."