Chaplain : WhiteDwarf is too fast for you. Go for the legs.

You're starting to encroach on her predictions. You can tell. A tone of desperation starts to reach her voice. Teeth are gritting behind the mask. The impurities are starting to sear away. The scales of the cosmos begin to weigh her as inadequate.

Still, she's replying, in prediction and in reality.

WhiteDwarf : Maybe the real worthy cause is the friends we made