The relentless cracks and bangs of weapons fire are beginning to slow down, in a distinctly uncomfortable fashion. Resistance on the ground to the Inquisitorial raid is thinning, men and women spread out across the ground bleeding out, cowering, or fled as best they are able. The guards and those gentry not disposed towards cowardice fight on as best they can, but in the face of such grinding firepower it seems an open question how long they will be able to hold out. And what will happen to the cell, should they fall into the hands of Interrogator Altier. Speaking of her, the shining woman is currently all but on top of her hellish opponent, battering at it with one overhand swing after another. The pace of her attacks seems almost inhuman, the hellish fury on her face doing nothing to contradict that. The daemon's grip falters under the rain of blows, and the hell-forged sword is smashed free of its grip. The cursed blade tumbles across the rich crimson carpet, setting décor alight wherever it touches.

On the stage, the crack of Soren's laspistol barely seems to phase the augmented psyker. Though it strikes him in the ankle, the energy shot seems to do little more than burn away at his highly-polished boot and blacken the shining silver augmentic underneath. Or perhaps not - a fraction of a second later, when H3X unleashes another stream of fire from his own integrated weapon, the nobleman attempts to weave to the side as he had before, only to stagger as his right leg mistimes the maneuver by a crucial moment. He takes the full weight of the incoming fire full in his chest, the las-blasts ruining his grey finery and tearing deep into his armored mechanical chest. His twitching, primal stance becomes a full-on spasm, falling back several steps with a thin, oily substance leaking from the sparking holes charred into his chest.

Seeming for a moment as if he might simply fall over dead, the psyborg instead is able to collect himself at least partially. But with the severe damage already done to his mechanical body and mutation wracking what little is left of his flesh, the man seems to decide that discretion is the better part of valor. Raising his left hand high in some bizarre occult gesture, he spits yet another indecipherable mix of corrupted binary and ear-bleeding syllables into the air. The stage all around the cell shakes as reality around the man shimmers, threatening to tear a second time... and holds. He simply isn't strong enough to wrench the veil aside again. The psyborg merely doubles over in agony, an unaccountably wet, hacking cough emerging from his vocalizer unit, which was clearly never designed with such pitifully organic noises in mind. Yet further grey oily fluid leaks from around his faceplate, and he clutches at his critically wounded chest.

Despite the unnatural hacking and wheezing coming from his vocalizer, the nobleman manages to look up enough to meet H3X's red oculars with his own azure implants and slur out a string of basic binary, "01011001 01101111 01110101 00100111 01101100 01101100 00101110 00101110 00101110 00100000 01110010 01100101 01100111 01110010 01100101 01110100 00101110 00101110 00101110 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011 00101110 00101110 00101110."

Spoiler: Binary
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"You'll... regret... this..."


From behind her nice, thick armorglass cover, Dyveke raises her head just enough to put the offending persistent Sororita back into her sights, popping off one more expertly-aimed shot that the Battle Sister fails to avoid with a last-minute duck. The bolt shell explodes against her blood-red power armor, eliciting and audible grunt of pain from the holy woman and leaving a visible crater the faux-corset, but the Daughters of the Emperor are not easily put down. The noble brat's stubborn resistance only seems to incite the woman further, and she continues to try and avenge her wounded fellow's blood.

Spoiler: Dyveke
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Half action aim. Half action shoot: (1d100)[28] vs 55.

If hit: (1d10+5)[9] X damage, Pen 4 or (1d10+5)[9] X damage, Pen 4, whichever is higher.


Finally, Balthazzar, holding the precious binaric data fragment in its mechanical grip, floats over to the side of H3X. If nothing else, at least the cell should be able claim two prizes this night.