"They will be up here in a few seconds, seems they have your trai-" Servo-buddy cuts off his quieted communications and scans the area for any sign of Jean. Observation distracts the unit for several seconds too long and soon a Genestealer with scythe tipped limbs crawls into the heart of the trap. Jean feels the vibrations through the weakened floor beneath him, a solid thump that sounds in time with his hearts and leaves a solid impression that he has done himself several favors. Servo-buddy certainly does not pursue him. A thin veil of smoke disperses through the underhive's stagnant air, drifting over the battle below. Battlefield illuminates to the birth of a small coldly burning sun. Scythe Strain's screech of pain builds up into a roar that rattles the nearby buildings. Blackened and burnt down to a single heaving limb, the smoking beast takes a single step forward before Mathius' is upon it with his blade. Every blow falls with the weight of vengeance and borderline hysteria behind it. For a moment the Blood Angel sees his kin helping him, wisps of movement on his peripheral vision; Mathius turns away from the slain xeno without having fully grasped how swiftly he had butchered it. Whatever delusions he suffered from were not so strong that he could not recognize reality, and that someone had certainly just tried to toy with his mind. Marine's gaze falls over the handy work of the Alpha Legion, the small combat squad of operatives cutting down the remainder of their foe in sprays of promethium and bolt fire. Both Aldric and Alto get to sit it back and watch as the field clears. Neither auspex, nor eye or any other sense available to them betrays the presence of further xenos. Before long the suppression field begins dragging back towards Iskaness, briefly hazing their minds once more before effect peters out to nothing. The four legionnaires form up in cover and around the hovel Iskaness had made into his little witch's lair for the duration of the brief engagement. Sorcerer emerges from cover with a narrow streak of blood stained flesh trailing beneath his right eye and both ears leaking even more. We should fall back while we still have the opportunity. Our cannon fodder have broken, and the rest of the footslogging cultists will be here to bog us down before long. Sorcerer forces his voice into the minds of everyone nearby with little regard for manners or who among the trans-humans are actually present. The five traitors begin ambling their way towards the end of the fissure nearest to their entry.