WhiteDwarf : Assess your enemy and the battleground.

In pulsing code-red lights, you examine the layout. A swordswoman always knows where she fights. Rows of pews ring the aisle of the chapel's chamber. Nothing between you and him but distance. And there is so much distance between you.

Chaplain: You have your right to try, your right to attempt transgression. But as you do, I will test your worth, one final time. You will be reduced to what you are, to scattered ash and cinders, unless you prove some value, some resilience and drive that I cannot see.
Chaplain: A sinner's suicide.
WhiteDwarf: You've underestimated me.
WhiteDwarf: I won't back down. I challenge you, for the disk and for the fate of this station.
Chaplain: Hah. And so it all comes to this!
Chaplain: Observe the truth of a judgment of worth! THE STARS OF LIBRA! They judge and know the value of all, and it is only because of my worth that the fate of this station, and so many others, now rests upon my skill and determination!
WhiteDwarf: You'd claim judgment of worth has some grand, cosmic value then?
Chaplain: The grandest of all! What is the difference between a mass of drifting hydrogen and star? The worth of its mass, the weight of its solar fusion, its capacity to ignite. And from the passage beyond that threshold may be birthed billions, perhaps trillions of lives, fueled by the heat and light the sun may freely offer. Only because of its mass, its pressure, the force by which it exceeds the threshold and becomes worthy!
Chaplain: Are humans any different? Is there no threshold, at which a human may become something great, something of cosmic significance? OF COURSE THERE IS!
Chaplain: I AM THAT THRESHOLD! I am what marks the difference between worthy and unworthy! The crucible of worth itself! It is my fires that burn away the impurities and leave only that which has true mettle beyond the boundary!

Chaplain: return the sword