Belisarius Cawl was far too arrogant. He trusted his calculations absolutely and carried out his ideas with supreme conceit, regardless of whether anyone else agreed.
Why bother with cautious experiments when the outcome was a hundred percent certain? Did you think we still had time?
When the golden giant drew himself in and slowly folded his fingers back into place, everyone finally heard Evan's voice over the communications channel.
"Apothecary, I need more combat stimulants. Check my black carapace. There are signs of overload."
It was not just the Apothecaries. Every warrior who "felt he could help" swarmed over, packing the area so tightly that nothing could get through.
Evan pulled off his combat helmet. The skin stuck to its inner lining tore straight off with it, leaving his face a bloody red.
It looked terrifying, but for a Primaris Warrior, this barely qualified as a minor injury.
The extreme exhaustion that followed the stimulants wearing off was assaulting Evan's consciousness. He desperately wanted to sleep, but Apothecaries usually kept him awake through methods he would rather not experience. To keep certain Apothecaries from settling personal scores under the guise of duty, he decided to hold on a little longer.
Cawl ambled to the edge of the crowd, moving slowly. He had diverted most of his energy into processing the fresh data.
Finding the way ahead too crowded to enter, he shook out his robes, and his entire proxy rose into the air, floating over the crowd to Evan.
"Are you all right, Brother Evan? The pressure you will face will be some as yet unknown multiple of this."
"I'm fine, Cawl. I'd be even better if you could toughen up my skin."
Getting angry at Cawl's proxy seemed pointless. If he wanted to teach Cawl a lesson, he would