The fighting was done and Vitruvia removed her helm, smelling the burned ozone and the stench of bolter propellant on the rapidly clearing smoke. Screams of dying renegades provided a worthy hymn of celebration.
Vitruvia took stock of the situation. The Inquisitor had gone down but seemed to be alive and if not well, then well enough to do the Emperor's work. Some Sisters were wounded but the Hospitiler Alexa was already providing aid. Another Sister, whom Vitruvia recognized as Elspeth, was already assisting the Inquisitor in interrogating a captive.
Vitruvia's lip curled in disgust. Not at the threats of torture (an agonizing death was better than the heretic deserved) but rather from an deep rooted repulsion at the thought of heresy, one buried so deep it was impossible for her to ever really articulate. It was like love; impossible to truly explain but a powerful motivator nonetheless.
It took an act of conscious will for Vitruvia to restrain herself from crossing the platform and blowing the renegades brains out.
That would not be in the interests of the God-Emperor. The Inquisitor needs information. Walk away.
And so she did, pausing only to kick a mortally wounded renegade in the jaw with such force her cermite boot shattered his teeth and punched his lips through the jagged shards of bone.
Her back to the interrogation she secured the area, eyes alert for signs of a second attack.. or betryal from the Governor and his suspiciously timely reinforcements.
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