Having overloaded her spectral weapon with too many absolved souls previously corrupted by the Black Mist, Senna finds herself in deep trouble handling the content of her relic cannon's surprisingly lecherous tendency to violate her ebony visage. The globule of mists converged with the souls, forming to numerous hands pinning the Redeemer to the ground, easily overpowering her with their plentiful eldritch essence. It is obvious that the malevolent influence the Shadow Isles had on those souls has yet to subside.
Senna hopelessly watches as those perverted beings relish in forcing themselves into all sexual orifices available through out her restrained body, while molesting her ample bosoms to add insult into injury. Absolution at its finest.