Tarvitz hurried toward the hangar, his breathing ragged, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind racing.
Time was running out. Every second could decide the fate of the hundred and sixty thousand warriors on the ground.
He had to reach the surface and issue a warning before the Pride of the Emperor finished preparing its Bombardment.
The legionaries stationed beside the hangar had already received their orders.
They stood in a line at the hangar entrance, their Bolters raised and aimed at the approaching Tarvitz.
Their faces were hidden in the shadows of their helmets, but their stances conveyed firm, decisive resolve, as though they were carrying out an unquestionable duty.
"Captain Tarvitz, please turn back. You do not have clearance to enter the hangar," one legionary said, raising his Bolter, his voice emerging through his helmet's amplifier.
The instant he finished speaking, his head flew into the air.
Tarvitz did not slow down, did not hesitate, did not give him any time to react.
The Power Sword in his hand traced a vicious arc through the air, slicing through the legionary's neck before the last echoes of his words had faded.
The sharp blade cut through the helmet's armor and severed the bones of his neck, separating his head from his body in an instant.
The head tumbled through the air as blood gushed from the severed neck, forming a dark red fountain in the corridor, then struck the floor heavily and rolled several times before coming to rest.
"Kill Tarvitz! Now!" shouted a legionary who looked like a sergeant. His voice thundered through the Communications Channel with the urgency and tension of an emergency order.
More than a dozen legionaries opened fire with their Bolters at once.
Bolts burst into balls of orange-yellow flame throughout the corridor,