'[i]One riot, one regulator. Ain't no bravado, lass, it is what it is on the streets down there. And lemme tell you som'tn - Schola ain't raised no reinforc'ment-beggin' pussies, we do what we do and Emperor smite my 'clast ass on this spot if we can't manage that just fine like that.[/i]'

She had known Pavel well before she had to address him as Justicar Armata. Granted, she made a painfully poor first impression being used as a human shield by some whiteout-pumped Redemptionist, but she reserved the right to be displeased by being shot through to 'neutralize the perp'. Factor Secundus Toros really damn appreciated that original liver of hers, and losing one at her own embassy event has put her in a rather sour mood. His attempt at an apology put the hastily installed vat-grown replacement through a cruel stress test - the first sip tasted like hell, the second almost took her there.

She taught him how to make his hobby brews less likely to blind the user, how to whisper dataslate override prayers and how a strongly-worded letter can be more lethal than a needle-shot. He taught her how to enjoy opera, how to shoot a boltgun and how to survive on the streets. 

"People don't see you", he said. 'They see their idea of you. It's not about actually being invincible; it's about everyone being too scared to try and check it out. We kill the idea of resistance - not with a bullet, but with the idea of punishment. We just use the bullets to illustrate the latter one. I may not kill the whole crowd, but I sure as hell can make every single one of the poor fraggers think that I shall kill him personally."

He did not survive the new batch of empty-eyed low-lives screaming of the Emperor's Second Coming, the ones who knew no fear. They laughed at her as she raised the alarm. Nobody was laughing after the first autopsies. To fear is human. Those were not. His statue - right between the opera house and the brewery - has been commissioned by an incognito patron after the war. She never visited. 

The idea of punishing a traitor has been stronger than the sheer vulture habits of the usual rioters - likely because people were building this goddamn idea up from the ground for ten millennia and she has just done some extraordinarily deep job in reinforcing that. Fortunately for her, people are only so good at building ideas. About ten millenia ago, someone much smarter offered a new idea to the whole galaxy, an iron promise made flesh, an armoured boot choking on the galaxy throat. 

They could dare call her a traitor, her pleas falling on deaf ears. Let them try doing that to...

"Sir Kim, I would like to offer you a riddle. What is above two meters tall, clad in power armour, proficient with bolter and tried assassinating an Archmagos?", Secunda's voice grew a little hoarse as she guesstimated the proper frequencies of his power armour comms. She took a rather wide transmission width, not really bothered if anyone cares to eavesdrop. "The true answer might surprise both you and your gracious electromancer host. I would be eager to discuss it in detail if you do me a favor and address this whole goddamn crowd before it all turns to a needless bloodbath. The Emperor Protects."

Nobody in their right might would accuse an Angel of Death directly. Still, Secunda had no doubt that the esteemed guest was sharp enough to understand that anyone asking "Who is deadly enough to kill Archmagos with a mere bolter?" would inevitably be drawn to a sole Astartes visiting this world. Astartes were feared - for good reason - but, usually, they were far away, killing unnameable things on the far stars. Even an implication of a shadow on their honour has been the one way to ensure that they are going to take it personally.