The Confessor's moustache drooped as Alexa spoke, before smiling kindly as she finished. "Oh how endearing of you to suggest such, dearest Sister. Alas, I doubt it will be. I am but a humble Confessor. I would not deign to ask for such and even if indeed I were to do so I am all but certain the request would be rejected. Worry not, Sister. I know that between the three of you not a hereitc shall be left standing and should the foe be alerted to you, I shall be ready to dispense holy justice of my own." Horacio promised, racking the slide of his shotgun demonstratively. Of course, though a powerful symbolic gesture he made sure to pick the fallen shell off of the ground. 

He made the sign of the Emperor as the Sisters went off to do their duty, before kneeling down in silent prayer.No doubt as the time passed that they were killing many of the foe, and oh how much Horacio wished e could be amongst his comrades. It wasn't cowardice that kept him here oh no, he was more than happy to die in the line of duty. Rather he was a liability and he would indeed benefit from Alexa's suggestion, despite the unlikelihood it would ever come through for him. In his studies he had learned of some tribes in feral worlds that ritually threw their most elderly and unproductive off of cliffs such that they could live more efficiently in the service of the Emperor, and the grim thought came upon him that he would soon be approaching eligibility for this alien, but strangely logical and utilitarian practice. 

He was brought out of his musings however as he overheard loud voices, and possessing a definite masculinity that indicated they were not the Cleric's treasured Sisters. They were angry, and all but certainly they were not the sort who would be kind to the followers of the Emperor. The thought that his absence could have these men strike into the rear of the trio and he would be at fault for having stayed behind made his heart beat dangerously and he had to practice a few breathing exercises to restore himself to a healthy state. His shotgun would be of no use hear, and thus he stowed it away. 

Peaking around at the men he grimaced. They were two and he was one. He had the element of surprise, but he did not go along with the Sisters precisely because he knew he would have difficulty maintaining it. What then, could he do? Well, he had knives had he not? He drew two, and tested their balance. He could throw one with some semblance of accuracy, and not two at once. After he hit one of the men the second would be alerted and rather likely to duck for cover before the projectile hit him. He would have to fight one hand-to-hand, that much was apparent.

He wasted no time and rushed out throwing one of the blades at a squatting heretic. Much to the Priest's disappointment it didn't cut into the man, rather just striking the skull of the bastard with a loud [i]bonk[/i]. It was enough to at least temporarily incapacitate the man as the Confessor went to stab his comrade. The man however was young and clearly skilled, reacting just in time to catch Horacio by the wrist and stave off the attack. The worrying realization dawned on Horacio that the man was much stronger than him as slowly his blade-bearing hand was overpowered and the point turned on its very holder, slowly pushed back towards Horacio's flesh. The man had more skill, more energy, more strength. But Horacio knew he had faith, and experience on his side. As slowly blood began to be drawn, he spat in the man's eyes before striking him in the head with his own. He ignored the tremendous pain as the knife went all the way into him and he ignored it again as he removed it before sinking it into the enemy's skull. The encounter had almost ended Mazzini's life and had felt like eternity, but in truth it was no more than six seconds in total. 

The man hadn't been paying attention, and he knew he might have screamed amidst the violence. He hoped it was not the case, but it was a dangerous possibility.