The burst of blue fire roaring like the fury of an angry star is not slowed even the slightest by the trifling of psykers. It explodes in a such a fury, reducing a sniper to cauterized gibs and those surrounding him into obliterated parodies of the human form. The consequences of this fury, although mere seconds, they are seconds that must be suffered to give the Emperor's slaves time to continue their existance.

For the moment, Nephthys takes total cover, a red warning rune informing him that the weapon must pool enough plasma in immediate reserve to fire a shot. Excess heat pluming out through vents. Nothing dangerous, but a standard safety procedure.