100 g's

Rubio put all his effort into a final attack that reflected against him with such power that it knocked the sword from his grip. The weapon clattered against the stone floor and Malcador saw his opening.
‘Now then,’ he said, ‘we’ll get to the heart of this.’ The Sigillite moved quickly, pressing the icon to Rubio’s chest-plate before the warrior could react. White light flared from the device, and he shrank back as Rubio was wreathed in an aurora of jagged lightning. Gravity multiplied and forced the legionary to his knees, holding him there under a hundredfold of his own weight.
...
	The power of the restricting field meant that Rubio could not even move his eyes, forcing him to only look ahead. But at the edges of his vision he saw the movement of the cell doors opening at Malcador’s command, and he saw the first of the bodies fall. He heard the song of the blade he knew so well hissing through stale air and human flesh. There were no cries, of course, but the gush and spatter of slit throats had a sound all of their own.
As each Sister was dispatched, the telepathic fog abated by degrees, but it meant nothing to Rubio. The glowing device affixed to his chest was negating all energy-conduction in his armour, from the flex-metal power musculature of his arms and legs to the psi-attuned crystals of his psychic hood. He could do nothing but wait and witness, trapped in the amber of reborn rage.

The Buried Dagger