Judgement is a terrible weapon in service of vice.  

Here and now it flows through Ailee in regal violet and white, the impressions of robes and scepters and the skulls of birds and men. It reaches across into his body and muscles and forcibly fills them with sloth and cowardice. He pulls his strikes against his will. He cravenly backs down when she glares at him. An assault of fury and rage is diluted, watered down, transformed into the sad flailing of an old man who should have known better. Trying to batter your way past her holy words of Judgement? You may as well be striking the shadow in your own heart. You [b]are[/b] who she [b]says[/b] you are, old man, and she says you are [b]no one[/b].

(The energy crackles up her own arm as well. Judgement hates being wrong. Enforcing this reality has a cost.)

[Overcome: 8, damaging Pride for a lasting solution. Next roll is made with hope.]

And like a winter wind through the streets of the capital she snaps out like a serpent, taking the bat from him and cracking it over one knee. She takes the shoe from him next and hurls it over her shoulder into the river. All the violence that broke an unsatisfactory outcome coalesces in a terrible crackling hammer of violet, Judgement made manifest. It is an ungodly weapon hypersaturated with the vice that rules the deepening realms, a weapon angels would fear to cross. 

"STAND BACK, JACKDAW," said Ailee, evidently not taking that 'less angy' bit to heart. "WE'RE GOING TO CONDUCT SOME EXPERIMENTS ON CLOWN IMMORTALITY."