Chaplain: Call upon the efforts of your faith.

Where flesh gives way, spirit is unyielding. You can't exactly get your arms up, but even now, you pray to the stars of Libra.

Chaplain: O stars of Libra. In destruction and persistence, in shattering and purification, I am your anvil and your crucible, I am your forge and your fire. Bless me with your light, your heat, your guidance. Bring me to judgment, that I may be proven worthy, and guide my hand as I judge the flock...
WhiteDwarf: I will take the disk. It's over.
Chaplain: This will never be over until you are burned to ash or made worthy. In Libra's name, I vow this crusade, unending and eternal, on this or any other station.
Chaplain: May the stars bless my hand and light my path, may our blades cross until you are broken or the scales judge you righteous.

And, somewhere, you can feel that Libra would bless this.

WhiteDwarf: You will not surrender? You will not retreat, where there is no hope?
Chaplain: Did you?
WhiteDwarf: ...
Chaplain: O stars of Libra, though my flesh may yield, though my heat may falter, I ask of you a blessing, a chance. Make me not a son of Jupiter, but a sun of your light. Fill my heart with your fire, fill my throat with your wind, fill my eyes with your guidance. Make of me a storm wider than the Earth, make of me a beacon seen by the galaxy, make of me a blade that cleaves the worthy and not. Let my boundary be unchallenged, my threshold uncrossed, my codes unbroken. O stars of Libra...

And, somewhere, you can feel that Libra will not intercede on your behalf. Is she worthy? Does Libra know something you don't? Blood runs down your back and pools at your knee. Your arm hangs uselessly. It is not for you to know why Libra will not grant you what you ask.
You pray, and vow, in what you suspect could be your final moments. Your faith is unbreakable.

WhiteDwarf: Take his arm. Take his disc.