The Confessor's words were not lost on Lisbeth. For a few moments, she stood on the green, ignorant of the fire around her, barely even aware of the shrieking bullets and the hiss of the las-blasts fizzing through the air. She rolled to the floor as a sweeping beam cut the air where she was standing, and fiddled with the grenades tied to her waist, pulling a cluster of three from underneath her rosaries. Gripping the pins in her teeth, she yanked down, and then lobbed them towards the enemy, hunkering down for a count of one, two, and then pushing herself up with her arms and legs, launching herself towards the burning buildings. As soon as she was visible again, the door-slam bang of the grenades went up, tossing dirt in all directions, maiming those between the two little cottages where the bundle had come to rest. While two of the traitors ducked behind a discarded cart to check on their companion, Lisbeth flicked the toggle on the side of her bolter and let loose with a stream of full-auto fire, recoil straining her wrist as she fired, pounding the area with explosive bolts. 

When the gun clicked empty, she released it, allowing the heavy weight to hang from the leather strap, and instead drew _Persephone_, screaming as she vaulted over the cart, delivering a steel boot to the face of one of the traitors. The other fumbled with his pistol, landing two glancing shots on her shoulder that would leave superficial burns but otherwise did little to stop her furious advance. She crushed the side of his skull in with the pommel of her power sword, before sprinting across the way as a stubber opened up with a cracka-cracka-cracka drumbeat, spouts of earth launched around her feet as she made her way to cover, to take breath for a moment. 

As she breathed, two more came around the corner, armed with shotguns, and they were the faster to react. The taller one, a grim-faced soul with a thin mop of red hair, unloaded two quick rounds into Lisbeth's gut, shards of metal embedding into the black surface of her armour, scratching away lengths of white scripture carved into the plates. None penetrated to her flesh, but the impact left Lisbeth stunned for a moment, and would lead nasty bruises later. The second thrusted a bayonetted rifle towards her, shining metal blade heated up by the flames, and caught the join between her greaves, slicing deep into her hip. To her shame, the frenzied sister cried out, before punching aside the shotgun now levelled at her head, and rode the momentum to spin, catching the rifleman with the heavy edge of her vibrating blade, the power field stripping away flesh and bone as she hacked through his chest, leaving him with a gaping wound along her side. 

Blood seeping from her own wound, Lisbeth's leg gave way, and she sprawled to the floor, a race between her and the red-head to grab the nearest weapon. The shotgunner had a head start, but the conditioned reactions of a true warrior were faster than the advantage of surprise and treachery. Grabbing the discarded las-rifle, Lisbeth jammed her finger into the trigger, pumping six blasts out towards the shotgunner, two striking him in the gut and a third in the middle of the chest before he collapsed, smoke rising from the scorch-marks on his flesh. Behind her, the striken heretic stirred, and she rolled, squealing as her hip twisted and the torn muscles rubbed against the dirt, locking an iron fist around the traitor's throat. He did not have time to choke before the sister crushed his carotid artery, his brain barely aware of what had happened before he sank into the darkness. 

When she tried to stand, she found herself crippled, barely able to do much more than crawl, and resolved herself to keep fighting, reloading her bolter, and aiming it squarely in front of her, waiting for the next treacherous soul who dared to test themselves against a servant of the Emperor...