Sister Dominica was the vessel of His judgement, swift and deadly. It was a simple task to arrive at her appointed position, and remain out of sight. She kept her knife sheathed within the civilians' clothes, preferring to avoid the risk of a shimmering light giving away their position; instead, as the whistle came, she handed herself over to Him and let her hands travel where they may. Wordlessly, the voice she had always trusted moved her to dash forwards, muscles pinging like taut elastic as she steamed towards the leftmost traitor. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the image of the great Celestian falling upon the enemy, before she delivered a stinging punch, swinging outside of her body and into the neck of the traitor whose attention was drawn by his fallen comrade. 

Like cardboard in heavy rain, he folded, hands going to his neck. [i]A failure. That blow should have killed him outright.[/i] Lisbeth silently tallied another mark against herself as she set about finishing her task. The guardsman, wheezing as he sucked unsteady mouthfuls of air into a dented windpipe, could only raise his arms up to chest height before a heavy shin struck him in the cheek, bringing him to the floor on his back before a heavily-muscled Sororitas pinned his arms to the floor with her legs. Without a word, Lisbeth's arms dived towards the sides of his head, already beginning to become slick with blood from a broken cheekbone, and plunged her thumbs through his eyeballs. There was a momentary resistance before a moist pop, and thin bones cracked as Lisbeth stirred the insides of his brains, forming a sticky, porridge-like paste of bone and mashed flesh. It gave Lisbeth a little measure of joy to know that the traitor died in horrid pain, a welcome appetiser for the judgement and purgation to come. 

Her task finished, she wiped the pink jam from her thumbs on the collar of the dead soldier's fatigues, lip curled in disgust. She would not waste prayers on this one. Instead, she grabbed his dropped rifle, pulled the bolt and ejected the magazine to check the state of charge, and rammed it back into the port, satisfied. They were not part of the trinity, but las-weapons at least had the virtue of silence. Quietly, she fixed the bayonet stolen from the dead guard's belt, and nodded towards her commander. "Celestian?"