[i]Ow.[/i] As impressive as the stitching and the swift work of the cement on her armour was, Alexa's talents were not an all-purpose panacea. Lisbeth might have been fit to fight again, but she was not enjoying the stabbing pain every time she thought about moving. Making a mental note to punish herself later for the sin of weakness in the face of pain, not to mention indulging in fear, she leaned on her sabre, dragging herself up to her feet as the fight wound down, just in time to see the final shot fired by Sister-Celestian Victorine. "Victory. Praised be His grace, and not our strength, for it."

Amidst the broken bodies, she caught sight of an Armsman, frozen in death struggling with some betentacled mutant, and that same terrible feeling of failure that had haunted her dreams since she let Persephone die dragged her spirits down into the gloom. This time, His voice was no comfort, and His words of reassurance were blocked out by the silent recital of the prayers she had memorised so long ago as a child. Wiping the side of her head, Lisbeth's armoured fingers ran over the tattoo around her eye, and she remembered one of the vows she had made upon entering the Order Militant. [i]Suffer not the witch to live.[/i] With those words ringing in her ears, she raised her sabre to her shoulder, and felt new strength enter her limbs. The traitors had taken blood, but they could not destroy her spirit. 

"Sister-Celestian, I will have the traitor's head before I take a single step off this ship, or I will die in the trying. We must not allow him to escape to spread his sin to another world. He must die."