He was a traitor.

He was a traitor, holding the life of a saint as ransom. 

There was only one end for traitors.

"The sainted child shall be an example for us all as a martyr," Lisbeth swore under her breath, and levelled her weapon. 

"Blam - blam - blam!" Three shots fired in a single burst, rat-tat-tatted against the metal holding together the Emissary's flesh, as the last rounds in the weapon were expended. All to the good - the Emperor's justice was best delivered by hand. With a roar, Lisbeth pushed off on her left foot and dashed towards the techno-witch, gun raised overhead for a downwards strike aimed at the top of the Emissary's skull, thick ropes of muscle contracting to throw her forwards with all speed.