[Suzerain of Sheol]

This was not an act of faith. Sheer mechanical expedience saw his message delivered, and the Celestrine has answered, as Diogenes knew he would. He must admit, it is a glorious sight to behold; too rarely does the Iron Scepter fulfill the divine purpose of its forging.

But there is no time to appreciate the descent of the holy patriarch's fury. The assassin has his orders.

Even as the others reel at the celestial display, Diogenes acts, channel his psykhe and propelling himself across the room in a blur, under the harrowing storm and onto the priest's bed, pausing only to hoist the shocked abbot of Smyrna in his arm before leaping away once more.

He pauses only briefly at the blasted opening in the wall before stepping over the edge, feet cycling with inhuman agility, pounding chunks of ancient mortar of the wall as he runs down it before leaping to safety on the ground below.

Glancing above with his psychic sight, he sees the rest of his men rappelling down on grapnels, obeying their Celestrine with all the devout adherence he would expect.

As much as it can be called such, the mission is a success.