[A new trick. It seems like the project is full of them, for all the good they'll do her. Mercymorn presses up to her feet with sinuous mustelid aggression, her feet sure on the slippery rocks, and she shows her perfect, blood-viridescent teeth in a bitter, flashing grin that vanishes into a cruel flatline smile.]

If I had known your mother dearest had gotten the brilliant idea into her thick, brutish skull to sabotage my project, I would have cratered your miserable little House from orbit myself, you puling error.

[Her eyes boil like planetary oceans hurtling towards a sun. More strings of guts weave up to join their fellows, rubbery and cold, two for every one cut.]

Where's your necromancer, infant? Or did you think to challenge the Saint of Joy alone?