Hill held Lady Euten against his chest as he raced through Macragge City.
His footsteps struck the muddy flagstones, each step landing with a heavy thud.
The body in his arms, much lighter than before, trembled faintly. Euten did not struggle, merely leaning stiffly into the crook of his arm.
Hill's gaze swept rapidly over the buildings on either side of the street. His mind worked like an efficient tactical computer, constantly selecting the safest escape route.
He did not know why he wanted to protect Lady Euten.
Yet her presence stirred a vague but powerful resonance within his chest, and his gene-seed seemed to boil.
He could not explain the feeling, nor did he have time to analyze it.
As a son of the Primarch, he had been driven instinctively to act by his gene-seed.
He only needed to protect her. That thought was as clear as if it had been carved into his bones.
Seeing this, the rebels under Galan's command surged toward Hill.
They poured from alley entrances, windows, and rooftops, brandishing spears, daggers, and rusted swords. Their leader wore a cuirass in the Galan Family's colors, shouting orders along the lines of, "Seize that meddler!"
Hill did not slow down.
He shielded Euten with one hand, pressing her firmly against his chest to keep her from being hurt as he sprinted, while his other hand snatched up a block of masonry weighing several tons.
He did not even aim. He simply hurled it with all his strength, adding the momentum of his run to the throw.
The block traced a ponderous arc through the air like a slow-moving cannonball, whistling as it slammed into the densest knot of rebels.
More than a dozen mortal rebels blocking his path were sent flying, their bodies crushed in an